Enduring
by bhen
Summary: Early story of my character Saber see Challenges Rated T for some abuse violence.
1. Chapter 1

Enduring

Chapter One: Training

Only a solitary candle shed any light in the dingy kitchen. The walls were drab, the floor tiles cracked and broken, and a rat skittered along the edge of a wall just out of the reach of the candlelight. There was only a single bedroom adjoined to the kitchen area, meant for only one tenant. Located in the part of town reserved for the poor and downtrodden, the apartment was not what one might consider a home, but more of a place to hide.

Nekros, master assassin and thief, circled the young Dark Elf boy before him. The boy remained as still as a statue, keeping deep wine-red eyes downcast, and showing no signs of fear or emotion. The assassin knew, however, that the boy was terrified. The fear was necessary. The fear assured his obedience. Fear was all part of his training, to mold the lad into some semblance of a cold-blooded killer.

Feryl was perhaps, twelve or as old as fifteen, with the slightest indication of puberty molding his features into maturity. The skin was gray ashen, dark as soot with the elven features cut sharply to form the high cheeks and narrow chin of his kind. There was a level of elegance to his face, with well-defined mouth and thick lashes giving him an almost feminine pretense. Even fingernails were slightly longer than what you might find on a boy, as was the fall of glossy hair that fell past his shoulders. Straight and black as a raven's wing, the curtain often fell across his elven features, with only the graceful points of his ears sticking out of his tangled mane. The red glow of an eye glimpsed beneath the fall of hair, but for now, the gaze remained steadfast to the floor, just as he'd been ordered.

Despite his uncultivated appearance, the boy was remarkably handsome. Most elves were. His face, when you could see it not shrouded by a fall of hair, could've been carved from one of the mighty statues of the Dark Elf gods, and the face carried almost the same emotionless expression as well. He bore a level of lost innocence that Nekros recognized in himself at that age.

The boy was exceptional. All you had do is look at him. Being a Dark Elf made him perfect for the tasks he needed the boy to do. He had night vision, so would never need a torch or candle. He was agile, so he could fit into windows no one else could. He was also very quick for one so young. Yes, he was perfect.

This young elf was a foundling. Nekros had taken him in once he saw him as a pickpocket on the streets, lost, alone, with no one to fend for him. Even then, he saw the boy's potential, but Nekros' interest was more than that. Nekros liked the idea of a pet elf. He liked the idea of raising the Dark Elf child into anything he wanted. He called him Feryl, more of an insult really. The word meant 'stray dog' or 'wild one' in Old Common, and the name stuck.

Nekros made sure that the child's entire world was filtered thru his master. The assassin became every role to the boy: father, teacher, master, and tormenter. Each day consisted of lessons of the assassin. He even kept the boy in a dark storage room lest anyone find him out. His anonymity was essential for Nekros had his own reputation of the merciless killer to maintain. The time was not right for Feryl to emerge as a killer quite yet.

The elfling knew of no other than his master, knew only his truth, and his world. The rough treatment assured for a perfect killing machine when he came of age. For now, he simply didn't have the size, nor the strength.

Standing just under five feet, his small frame could hardly manage the brutal edge of killing a full grown man. That is, not yet. Elves were lightweight, built for speed and agility rather than brute force. He couldn't snap a man's neck, or even drag a body to a hiding place. Lessons for the time being were focused on sneak and stun, rather than fighting. Even at this young age, the boy could throw with marksman precision a dagger to any target.

Feryl was also a smart boy, with an infallible memory. He only had to be told once, and the accumulated knowledge possibly even surpassed his master's when it came to poisons. The elf not only could read and write: he could memorize nearly anything he studied. The only pastime Nekros allowed the boy was reading, and even then, the books had to be acceptable. He didn't want Feryl learning anything that didn't serve a purpose to the reason of his being an assassin one day. The idea being that whatever Nekros told him, was law. He wanted Feryl to see the world thru the eyes of a killer, with complete obedience.

He was well versed in poisons, anatomy, weaponry, and marksmanship. However, history, and topics such geography, but every day life was lost to him. Nekros made sure he knew virtually nothing of his heritage, feeding the boy stories of how bloodthirsty and brutal his kind were. Nekros wanted him to understand that he needed the discipline, that he needed the strict enclosed world created for him.

Allowed out only at night, Feryl was to remain completely anonymous. Nekros knew the boy would now and then show curiosity to how others lived, but the assassin remained adamant that such a life was not for a Dark Elf. He was a creature of the night, and solitary. Nekros spoke of the dark elves as killers and loners. They didn't need anyone else.

Pouring wine into two goblets, the assassin let a smile play on his mouth, letting the boy know he was to be tested again. A quick glance at Feryl, and Nekros knew his thoughts. The red eyes flickered from the cups to his master returning to the floor. A silent exchange coursed between them. This was a lesson in poison.

"Hlorris root." Nekros explained, gently pushing the filled goblet to the boy. "There is a slight bitter after taste, leaving a tingling or numbing sensation."

Feryl stared at the red wine, hesitating before taking the cup. There was little threat in being deadly, Nekros wouldn't kill him, but the night was long and the boy knew he'd be sick thru most of it. His master watched carefully, waiting for him to drink. The boy took the goblet, sipped and rolled the wine on his tongue, making a slight grimace as he recognized the bitter taste of the poison.

"Symptoms are general weakness, difficulty in breathing." Nekros told him, motioning for him to drink more. "Muscle cramps. Eventually the body smothers, the lungs no longer able to work. Its best served in a dry wine, to mask the taste."

Feryl hated these tests, but Nekros used them to ensure the boy could recognize poisons, and the reactions as well. What better way than to experience for himself? Sipping his own wine lacking the Hlorris root, Nekros smiled once the boy finished his glass. "Ah, very good."

The boy didn't look well, but returned the cup to the table. The goblet was upturned, signaling the poison within its contents. Tasters for nobility often indicated poison in such a manner, and for some reason Feryl did as well. "You said I had a job to do?" he asked.

Nekros felt a wave of pride. The boy was learning the ropes. _Keep to the task at hand; let nothing deter you from your course. _The smile broadened, as he took a seat, kicking feet up to the tabletop and enjoying his wine. "Merthisan Kendari is a sword master of one of the fighting school here in the Imperial City." He began, "But he's the worst kind. He is what many would refer to as a paladin."

Feryl's eyes blinked, not understanding the word.

"Paladin." Nekros repeated the word with disgust. "A paragon of chivalry and defender of lost causes. Paladins as a whole are pathetic as warriors. They are predictable and weak."

"Weak?" Feryl steadied himself by gripping the side of the table. Arched brows pinched slightly upon his brow as a sheen of perspiration began to bead. "But he's a master swordsman?"

"Yes," the assassin nodded and drawled his tone in mocking sarcasm. "One would think with all that training such warriors would be near invincible, but I'm not speaking of physical weakness, but that of the heart. Their compassion is what drives them. Their righteousness clouds their focus. They can be baited and led to do whatever you wish, for beings such as you and I are not hindered by such chains as a conscious." He smiled, pleased with himself. "An assassin avoids fighting, not because of any lack of skill on our part, but because the true expertise lies in the victim's death looking nothing more than an accident. _We_ are the true experts of death."

_Thereby never guiding the trail of mystery back to the killer_. Feryl's head bowed, as a wave of trembling began. The poison was beginning to take hold. Nekros watched in fascination at the young lad trying to remain standing despite his body fighting the toxins. Yes, the boy was extraordinary.

"And what would you have me to do?" Feryl asked. His voice broke, as the first stages went to work.

"More of this later," Nekros told him, moving to held steady the boy before he fell. A shudder caused the knees to buckle, and the assassin caught him before he hit the floor. Breath drew in a shaky sigh, and a pained expression marred his lovely features. Nekros brushed back the silken curtain of hair over the elf child's face, admiring the lad for all that he'd turn out to be. Unable to control twitching muscles, the elfling gritted teeth and flinched again, trying to keep from moaning. Nekros lifting him up to carry him to the dark closet he'd given the boy as a room. There was barely space enough to stretch out, but it was the only place to store the boy and keep him locked up safe.

"There now." He whispered to the child who most likely could not hear him any more. His slight frame was twitching and shuddering against waves of pain and trying to suck in a breath. Legs pulled up to curl into a ball. "The pain will worsen, but endure. We will speak more of Kendari later."

Leaving the boy to his own, Nekros shut and locked the door, returning to his bottle of wine and a pile of books he enjoyed reading.

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Feryl sucked in short quivering breaths, biting his lower lip and did as his master told him. _Endure_…that pretty much summed up everything in his life. Enduring was something he excelled at. Enduring pain, humiliation, hunger, lack of sleep, and whatever else Nekros forced upon him.

The pain was not as bad as he thought it would be, but then again, with all the poison he'd taken over his young life, Feryl knew he was growing immunity against it. He'd even started taking tiny amounts of the Shadowbane to hasten the immunity to poisons. The substance was a sweet tasting concoction that promised eventual resistance to nearly any poison known to man. He'd been taking small amounts all without his master's knowing of course. The substance also promised even a small respite from his pathetic existence, providing a slight narcotic effect for a short time upon taking the herbal potion.

Endure…survive…both of which the young elf had learned to master. Nekros' training was brutal, often leaving the boy like this, alone and shaking in pain in his so-called room. Sometimes poison, sometimes wounds, but all to teach the art of the assassin.

Feryl never had a choice. His first memory was being captured by Nekros as a boy. He knew he lived on the streets as many other street kids, but nothing of that life before was in memory now. Everything was Nekros and his dark world of pain and death.

Curling up, the elfling grunted as muscle spasms took hold. This was nothing compared to other things Nekros had done to him. Whipping, beatings, even broken bones were all mended with healing potions and salves, only to start again the next day. What sickened Feryl was that the healing was not meant to give him relief, but to prevent him from scarring.

There were two reasons for that. The first was practical. Lack of scars left lack of identifying markings. Secrecy was key to the life of an assassin. He was to never get a tattoo, or wear anything that would distinguish him unless that was a disguise. The second was for a more ominous reason, one Feryl was growing to dread more and more as he was growing up with his master. Nekros liked his 'elf pet' free of any disfigurement. It was no coincidence beatings never spoiled the face, nothing was ever broken that would cripple him. All he had to do was bear punishment, and eventually Nekros would set him whole and right again.

So far, Nekros' passion was only to inflict pain, but recently the wayward caress against his cheek, or odd hungry expression on the man's face, was unsettling. Feryl didn't know what to think of this, if such affection was a good thing or a bad thing. The warmth, if one could call it that, was not exactly unwelcome; being the touch was the only affection he'd come to know. Too often however, that light touch would turn brutal, without warning. A soft touch on a cheek tended to slide easily into a chokehold, or a pat on the head, would grip a fistful of hair to draw back and expose his throat. Such contradictory actions might be just another method of Nekros' brutality to keep him in line. However, Nekros also liked pain, liked what pain did to people, and the power he had over others while inflicting it.

Nekros reminded the boy often he should be grateful. Dark Elves were evil, he said, their very nature was savage and wicked. They lived in the dark places, and left untrained, would drink blood, feast on flesh, or kill without control. This served to justify the beatings, the pain, even the poison. It was about control, Nekros often said, to form him into something more civilized. This made Feryl the perfect apprentice; the very reason why he was given the auspicious role to Nekros who was the most feared and dreaded assassins in the Imperial City.

Lost in the dark, Feryl knew he'd bitten his lip when he tasted blood in his mouth, wondering if he'd ever acquire a taste for the metallic flavor. Dark Elves drank blood? Why then did he detest the taste, or was his dislike because the blood was always his own? Did others taste different? How much of Nekros told him was a lie? Or did he not understand the truth of things? That thought seemed unlikely. Nekros knew everything.

But Feryl had learned different the past year. During the time he was allowed out of confine, he would see how others lived in their homes at night. Children slept in beds, and once the young elf saw what could only be a father tucking his young son at night with a soft pat on his tussled locks. Such tenderness was not part of Feryl's world. But then again, he'd never seen another dark elf child. Was life supposed to be different for his kind?

The city had many races, even other elves, but he had yet to see one with the dark skin and red eyes he bore. Was he the only one? Were there others out there like him? Perhaps Nekros was right in his nature. Dark Elf children had to be mastered and beat into submission…they were not like other children…

Too sick to think further, he curled up with arms folded over his head and simply endured.

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Nekros unlocked the closet door. He knew he had to use a bolt instead of a lock on the door. The boy years ago had mastered picking locks, and had snuck off on more than one occasion. Now a heavy bolt kept him safe. The assassin opened the door to let the light behind him spill onto the prone figure lying in a fetal ball. Feryl was very still. Hair had fallen clear from his face, and curled as he was amid his pile of blankets looked every bit as the innocent boy he should've been. He was not, the assassin smiled. No, he was so much more. The assassin nudged him with a foot, and found him unmoving.

For a brief moment he considered perhaps he'd given the boy too much poison this time, but a sharp kick jolted the boy into consciousness. "Get up." Nekros ordered him. The red eyes blinked back the glaring light of the room beyond. The boy grunted, moving as if every joint hurt, but did as he was told. Hair fell over his face, tangled from his unsavory sleep.

Still rousing himself, he stumbled into the room, moving to stand in the center as he always did when Nekros gave him orders. The man was on edge, pacing the room as he muttered things under his breath. This was how he plotted and schemed.

"The Kendari School." The assassin announced, halting his stride to face his apprentice. "The job entails you to enter the school, and steal a very rare sword known as the Manos Blade. He keeps his weapons on display in the practice room of the school. You will go in there and steal it."

"Just one sword?" Feryl asked, finding these orders curious to go after just one item. "I thought you wanted-"

"You don't think, Feryl!" Nekros growled, slapping him hard enough that forced his head to the side. To his satisfaction, the boy simply closed his eyes, and remained silent. Any other child would burst into tears, not this one. Instead, the elfling gritted teeth, and remained impassionate. "And do not presume what I want. Of course there is a king's ransom of weapons in that school, but it's the Manos Blade I'm interested in. Time enough later to get the others, but this sword is all that you will be carry out."

"When?" Feryl asked softly.

"Within a week." The man smiled. "You will stake out the school, to find the best time for the theft, then steal the blade when no one is inside."

He stepped close to the boy, admiring the child's delicate features and handsome face. Feryl's eyes fluttered as breath quickened, revealing the rising terror of being in such close proximity. "You take nothing but that sword. Understood?"

The elfling nodded quickly, unsure to what his master might do. Nekros was fanatically deranged. One never knew when he was being sarcastic, or when he'd strike.

"Good." Nekros purred with an evil smile. "And don't get caught, but by now you know what happens if you do." He admired the boy ability to give a façade of calmness considering his heart fluttered wildly. "Do not disappoint me."

"I wont disappoint you." Feryl replied, his voice tense.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: The Manos Blade

The last of the students had left for the night, leaving Merthisan Kendari to straighten up the practice area. The Kendari School was his pride his joy. The stone building had once been an unpretentious manor owned by a minor aristocrat, with two tower-like structures to the front, and the remaining architecture laid out in simplistic boxed design. Reminiscent of a small Imperial fortress, the walls were of gray stone with much the same for floors. Within some of the rooms, the previous tenants had made livable by adding wood paneling or traditional plaster and timber. Otherwise the school was stark but functional.

After a small fire, the place had been abandoned. When Kendari was looking for locations to start his school, this place was affordable due to the tremendous amount of work needed to make it livable. In the beginning, there was an endless amount of work and luck to establishing the school. Where once there was a stable, now a spacious practice area was padded with burlap and lined with benches. The rest of the modest estate comprised a large kitchen, storage areas, a few sparse rooms, and what could be described as an office.

Scratching the days' growth of graying beard on his chin, Merthisan found himself staring at a reflection on one of the shields. He'd been a handsome man once, but age was wearing hard on his visage. Lines now creased his brow, crinkled near eyes every time he laughed. Hair that was long enough to touch shoulders had long since gone gray, matching the white beard on his upper lip and chin. He noticed the blue eyes never lost their sparkle however, and oddly enough the brows remained the original brown as his hair and beard once was. No sir, he was old now, and there was no denying age was upon him. He'd given up a life with family in order to travel the world and become a hero. He'd taken an oath to protect the weak, defend against evil, and uphold honor and righteousness. Rarely were times he wondered if he made the right choice. For all that he'd given up, he now had the academy to show for those sacrifices.

Replacing the wooden practice swords to the shelves, Merthisan found shoulders tense. The sensation of being watched was strong, and he found his movements slow as he tried to discern why he felt eyes upon him. This of course was impossible being that nearly everyone was gone for the night. Students left at sunset, servants soon after. The school was empty, locked up tight, and only he remained.

His eyes darted up to the high walls of the practice room to see nothing but the shadows. There were a number of rafters above and a narrow walkway surrounding the room he used to reach the tapestries that donned the upper walls. There were no ladders or stacked boxes to reach that height. Only someone coming up to the stairwell could reach that area. Nonetheless, Merthisan couldn't help but feel for the past week or so, a sense that someone or something watched the school at night. Perhaps it was some animal that had made its home in the rafters of the practice room, such as a bat or an owl?

Shaking off the unsettling feeling, he still had to fill out the day's entry in the ledger. Heading upstairs to his office, he pondered on what other chores he'd try to accomplish this night before heading to bed. All was quiet in his modest school. This time of the night gave the sword master the time to sort through some of the wretched paperwork he dreaded to undertake. There were four main rooms on the second floor of the school; two being for storage and the one of the rooms was kept for guests. The last room was what some might refer to as his office, but it was anything but. Scrolls, papers, and old weapons were stuffed in the room for storage, and his tiny desk was always littered with all manner of junk and ledgers.

Sitting quietly and reading the current list of earnings, the sword master took pride knowing how well his school was steadily growing. Only in its tenth year, and already he was turning a tidy profit. He had regular classes of students from all walks of life, from nobility to simple farm folk. Some wanted no more than a few preliminary lessons in handling a sword or axe, while others hoped to attain enough training to make a living by the blade.

Then it happened.

Merthisan would've missed it if he was anywhere else in the school, but the sound caught his attention now. Like a brush of cloth or fluttering of moth wings, his attention snapped to attention. By the dark sky out the window indicated the day had become night and reached the time the class ended and everyone would go home. Even Renis, his assistant was heading out for a night on the town.

Curious, Merthisan moved slowly to the dark hallway, all his senses sharp for sound or movement. Nothing. Luckily he had taken off boots, so barefoot, he moved silently towards the end of the hall that would lead to the walkway overlooking the practice area. From here, the walkway circled around the perimeter, and tall tapestries of ancient heroes donned the walls near the ceiling. It was here Merthisan felt would be a good hiding place to see who or what might be sneaking into the school

His waiting didn't take long. Almost as soon as Merthisan was about to dismiss his sense of hearing, he stared bewildered at the small form taking shape out of the shadows. How the agile intruder managed to reach this walkway without being seen was beyond him. He couldn't have come in from downstairs. Merthisan would've heard him on the stairway. He couldn't have climbed into the one of the windows due to the walls being virtually unscaleable. Nevertheless, stealthy as a cat, the form took shape creeping to the edge of the wall. From above, it took note of the room below, with the soft glow of torchlight illuminating the face.

Merth blinked, not believing if he was seeing was real. An elf child? Age was difficult to ascertain. By his size, he couldn't be more than twelve or so. His body was lightweight, thinner than most, and yet the look in his eyes, the manner of body language implied the boy to be nearing his teen years. The face was only partially obscured by a fall of tangled black hair that was longer than what one might find on a lad, falling just past his shoulders. Gracefully elongated ears jutted out of his mane of hair, twitching to listen to sounds and his gaze was of brilliant eyes glowing red-orange. The dark skin was stormy gray, almost slate in hue.

Small framed, the boy wore tattered rags that were once a loose shirt and breeches. Now the threadbare clothes hung off his frame. Feet were bare, the soles calloused, and a thin belt kept his pants on his too thin frame.

Merth continued to watch the lad, wondering where he came from. There were not many street children, being the Imperial Shrine often cared for the homeless, and the elven races were notorious for caring for their own. How was it this child looked so forlorn and uncared for? Where were his parents? Why was he even here, hiding from others?

Crouched on the edge of the high wall, the elfling remained in the semi-dark, watching with keen interest to the area below. The red glow of his eyes shifted from orange red to deep wine as he looked around the spacious practice room below. He saw the youth move forward, and lean dangerously close to the fifteen-foot drop.

The swordmaster moved to shout a warning, or try pulling him from the perilous fall, but the elf child knew what he was doing. Fingers clasped the edge of the walkway, and he somersaulted to dangle feet off the ledge, subsequently dropping the remaining distance to an acrobatic roll on the practice mat.

Merthisan was amazed of the boy's agility, and moved silently to watch him move towards the line of practice swords. Did he mean to practice alone?

The elfling turned his head, listening and eying the room warily unknowing of the warrior above watching his every move. The red eyes settled on the store of steel weapons on the walls around, and much to the swordmaster's dismay, began assessing the choice of armaments.

_Great…. a thief!_

Most swords on the lower shelves were basic practice swords of wood and blunt steel. Higher on the walls, however, were displayed some of the more splendid swords, spears, and daggers Merthisan Kendari owned. They were mostly for show; only now and then the better students could try to use one in 'live steel' combat. A few he'd found in various adventurers, while others were gifts from kings or knights. They were considered rare, and apparently coveted if now thieves were breaking in to steal them.

The young elf focused on several swords too high to reach displayed on large oak racks fastened into the stone wall, and Merthisan was now wondering how he intended on reaching them. He'd have to be a spider to reach that height or able to fly.

The boy nibbled on a fingernail in consideration, looking around the large courtyard, and found a wood quarterstaff. He gauged distance, and much to Merthisan's utter surprise, pole-vaulted the distance and managed to literally hang from the well-mounted sword display frames. Now all he had to do is choose the one he wanted. He couldn't pick more than one or two, by his size. He'd still have to leave carrying the steel barehanded, and had no sheath or sack to hide the weapon in. But only one sword was chosen.

Merthisan leaned a bit to see him pluck a short blade, a splendid curved scimitar from its place. The boy dropped to the practice mat, and focused on his newfound prize. The warrior seethed. _Little mite, thinks he can waltz in here and take whatever he wants, does he?_

The child must have incredible patience to wait as many days as he did, staking out the school, then lying in wait up in the rafters to discover the best time to pilfer what he wanted. He must have watched the sparring practices for Merth's schedule, seeing when the teachers arrived and left, and who, if any, was left behind. This night, Lyra the maid had already gone home, Merth was nowhere to be seen, and all the students gone for the night. Even Renis, his assistant had gone. Of course, his thieving would be this night.

Furious, Merth reined in his temper, and moved down to the lower levels by taking the stairs. He remained barefoot to quiet his steps. An elf child had better hearing than most, and there would be no hiding in shadows from this one. Dark Elves could see in the dark as if it were day. Even still, Merth wasn't sure how to handle a boy thief. It seemed wrong to beat him senseless as he would any other burglar, but the crime could not go unpunished.

He'd have to call the guard no doubt, and as he considered what retribution was needed, he slowly drew out his sword. At least, he should frighten the boy so he'd never consider thieving form the swordmaster again! A quick slap with the flat-edge of his steel would turn him to right!

"Boy..." Merth said, startling the elf enough he nearly dropped the short sword in his hand. He spun, taken totally by surprise. "You should learn to not take what is not yours."

Before he finished the sentence, the elfling bolted for the only exit to the practice room, the double doors to the right. He was fast, this boy, but not fast enough as Merthisan moved to intercept, blocking the only means of escape. The elfling skidded to a stop, almost losing his footing but managed to remain upright and back up. Eyes darted around the room, trying to find another means to freedom, but found none. The eyes glanced upwards.

"Drop the sword." Merth told him sternly, hoping to use bluff and bolster to get the boy to do as he's told. The youth had other ideas.

Turning quickly, the elf ran back to the far corner, and nimble as a squirrel leapt to the wall. He then bounced from corner wall to corner wall until he reached the walkway above, almost an impossible height!

"Well that explains one way he might had got up there." Merthisan huffed, racing for the stairs to block any further escape. He couldn't even hear the boy move, and as he reached the darkened rooms on the second floor, hesitated before going further. Somewhere in the darkness, a boy with a very sharp knife was hidden. The thought unnerved him. _A boy as young as this should be only playing at swords not trying to kill someone._ Then again, he hadn't had he? Even armed, the boy ran to escape not stand and fight.

Merthisan moved slowly down the hallway to peer into the storage rooms to see if he could see any sign of the lad or the sword. In one room, a window remained ajar. Merthisan frowned; refusing to believe anyone could scale the wall let alone climb the height to enter through that way. He huffed softly in frustration, focusing on finding the boy. The kid had a head start, could be anywhere. Every shadow seemed likely to hide the small elf, but then a sound caught his attention. A very light thud sounded from the walkway.

"Oh for pity's sake…" He muttered. The boy hadn't gone anywhere but had simply remained at the ledge, and once he knew the swordmaster had reached the second floor, he had simply dropped back down in the practice room. _Pretty clever…_

He rushed to the walkway, seeing the boy run for the double doors only to find them bolted. Desperate, he yanked on the latches, and then tried pulling the bolts to unlock the heavy doors. He wasn't big enough, or apparently strong enough to draw back the large bolts but if he was persistent, might manage to open the doors to freedom.

_Not quick enough though_. Merthisan shook his head, turn and ran as fast as he could back downstairs to intercept the kid from leaving.

Naturally the elf heard the sound behind him, and had not released his grip on the stolen sword. Spinning to see the enraged warrior bearing down on him, the boy looked down at the sword, then back at him, suddenly falling into a fighter's stance. His resolve surprised Merthisan enough to falter his advance. Was he desperate enough now to actually fight? The boy was barely five feet tall, small framed, and cornered. Of course he felt he had to fight. It almost made the sword master laugh, except a very sharp and deadly sword was pointed at him now.

"You intend on _fighting_ me boy?" The swordmaster was stunned. "I am Merthisan Kendari, _master_ swordsman. Are you sure you want to challenge me?"

The elven features were set into an expression of grim determination. He edged sideways, still looking for a way out. Keeping the warrior in front of him, the boy inched to the practice mat, heading towards the stairs once again. No, it was obvious the boy preferred to try to run for it, but Merthisan could not allow that.

"If you point a sword at a man, you best understand how to use it." Merthisan told him sternly, drawing a weapon from a nearby bench. He bore a long sword of the finest steel. With a flick of his wrist, the blade spun in his hand, making a pleasant hiss as the steel sliced through air. "Now drop that sword."

The elf boy kept his face an expressionless mask, and a quick shift of the eyes indicated his intention to run once again. Merthisan glared. Insolent whelp! He didn't want to hurt the child, but he couldn't let him leave either. Just as the boy began to bolt, the sword master was on him.

He intended on using the flat of the sword to smack the youth upon the shoulder to show he was serious, but to his utter amazement, the scimitar flew up to block the blow. This was then followed by a sudden kick towards the groin that all but took Merthisan by surprise. Dodging quickly, he was forced back a step. The kid was fast! He had underestimated this foe. Somehow this young boy had learned something of fighting.

"So…the cub is showing his claws, eh?" Merthisan eyed the child with new respect. Now the boy had no choice but to fight. The other way was blocked, the double doors locked, and only a furious swordmaster to face down.

Rushing towards him, Merthisan swung a series of blows only to find each attack blocked. He was still going easy on the lad, testing skills and his intention. Another engagement, and his sword nicked the boy's shoulder. Another deft attack, and he scratched his chin, each wound having no affect. The elfling barely flinched before retaliating a series of deft swings, and another violent kick. There was also a certain level of desperation to his technique.

Unsettled by the boy's ferocity, Merthisan knew he needed to up the skill a notch. This child was not leaving. The fight was coming to an end.

"That's enough practice." He murmured low, using the powerful swing to hit hard enough to batter the short blade out of the elf's hand, and leave it skittering across the floor. A quick jab with the pommel of his sword met with the boy's face, clipping his chin and sending him sprawling to the floor.

Merthisan had seen boys twice the age, twice the size, with twice the skill howl like a baby from a blow with half the consequence. This one only grunted when he fell back to the floor. Blood trickled from his mouth, only to be wiped away with an angry hand. The strike had left him reeling. Floundering, the elf child fumbled to hands and knees and made pitiful attempts at scrambling up to his feet. Limbs refused to work, and he slumped back to the mat, falling hard to the floor to remain on shaky hands and legs.

"I think you've had enough." Merthisan told him, sheathing his sword. Circling him a bit warily, he wondered if the boy had any more tricks. The boy's breath was ragged from the fight. His hair fallen over his face, but the head tilted slightly as he grew aware of the swordmaster standing near him. In one last attempt, the boy suddenly came to life, springing forward to try a grab at the fallen scimitar just out of reach.

Merthisan growled, kicked the blade far from the boy. "Do I have to knock you senseless?" he snarled, drawing out his sword to hover the deadly tip near the boy's neck. The worried concern that this boy pushed his limit steadied his hand. He'd not kill him, but how far would he go in keeping the boy down?

The boy cringed, before slowly rolling to his back in submission. Hands splayed in surrender- finally! Breath was still hard from all the effort, and blood oozed from a split lip. By the look in the red eyes staring back at him, the boy knew he'd been beaten.

"What's your name?" Merthisan demanded, not withdrawing the sword from his throat. He could now see clearly the boy's face, with the vivid red eyes contrasting against the dark ashen hue of his skin. Arched brows were black with hair and lashes, and the well-designed lines of his face twisted in frustration.

His attention flickered from the blade to the wielder. "Feryl." He spat, the voice sounded as if hoarse, but he was still recuperating from the fight.

"Feryl?" Merthisan echoed. The word was Old Common term meaning a stray dog. Was he insulting him, with a sword at this throat? "I asked you a question boy."

The boy frowned back, intermingled with an odd look of confusion. "My name is Feryl." Merthisan matched his scowl. Was it a nickname?

"That's not a proper name." He told the boy, getting annoyed. "What's your real name?"

To this the elfling remained silent, looking even more puzzled.

The sword master stepped back, not sure if he was taking him seriously or not. No matter. "Get to your feet. Keep your hands where I can see them." He ordered.

The boy got up slowly, trying to hide a grimace when he moved, but did as he was told.

He'd have to call the city watch, have the authorities take him. They'd have experience with the likes of him. Merthisan snorted in disgust. "Put your hands behind your back."

"Why?" The boy moved to turn, but the warrior poked a warning to remain facing the other way.

"Because I told you. Now do it."

Hesitating, the youth followed orders, folding hands at wrists. Merthisan found the bit of leather straps used to wrap the sword hilts for a better grip. The boy's face was slightly turned, and he caught sight of what the man intended.

Jerking violently, the elf child lost all semblance of submission. He moved back, and for the first time, Merthisan saw real terror in the boy's eyes. _It should be obvious I'm only going to bind his hands together. What did he think I'm going to do to him? _

With no regards to sword or warrior, the elfling bolted to nearly slam past the much larger man, and this time cleared by enough to make towards the stairs.

"Dammit!" Merthisan angrily growled. "Not again!" Chasing him once more, the boy managed to reach the stairwell, taking steps by twos. Where did he think he was going? There were only storage rooms above. Did he intend on jumping out a window? Ah but there was the hall leading straight back to the walkway above the practice room. He was circling again to lead the sword master upstairs to drop down into the practice area to then make his escape.

Not fooled this time, Merthisan turned and went running down the way he came. He arrived back in the practice area just in time to see the lad unbolting the large door. The boy also had the sword again, and even dared glance back over his shoulder. The face was pensive, the mouth set in a grim line.

"You wretched elf!" Merthisan thundered. Nothing deterred the boy now as the door swung wide and he ran into the night. For several blocks, the swordsman chased after the elf child, seeing him moving further and further beyond his reach. Now out of breath, the man slid to a halt to catch his breath. "Dammit!"

The boy's footsteps disappeared into the night.

Note: Those of you who've read Challenges might remember Merthisan mentioning this very scene where he meets Feryl (a.k.a. Saber). The next chapter has the plot thicken with intrigue!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter three

Feryl ran until he thought his lungs would burst, aware of the swordmaster pursuing him. Familiar with the streets, and having the agility and speed of his race, he soon found the curses of the man fade quickly behind him. Even then, the young elf continued his chase just to be sure.

Only when he found himself in the recognizable streets in the poorer end of the city did he slow his race. He slipped into an ally to catch his breath. Ears twitched as he listened and found that no one gave chase. He could hear only his own gasping breath and pounding heart. Once satisfied that no one followed, he gripped the sword in his hand, and a wave of repletion passed over him.

_I did it! I have the Manos sword!_ Smiling to himself, he let the dim light of the ally play on the gleam. For all its beauty one might even think this an enchanted blade, but Feryl felt no tingle in his palm, no magical glimmer with his night vision. He lightly held the steel blade against his palm, while his other hand turned the sword in the dim glow of moonlight.

The curving blade was exquisite, with the gentle arch of the metal unscathed and sharpened to a razor's edge. Shorter than most swords the young elf knew of, this sword promised a deft quickness with swing and thrust. Feryl had no experience with swords, but there was no denying the care taken to its creation, nor the balance that the weapon carried. Strangely, to a boy who never touched a sword before this day, the Manos blade felt as though it belonged in his hand or he'd held a sword once before.

"Feryl." A hoarse whisper startled the boy. A dark shadow came up from nowhere, and approached the dark elf admiring the stolen blade. The man was an Imperial, stocky in build and large for his race. The face was broad, the eyes dark, and a day's growth of beard gave him a ragged appearance. Lank brown hair fell in layers to the shoulder. One might even consider him nothing but a vagabond or common drunk, but Feryl knew better. Here before him was Nekros, the world's greatest assassin.

A master at disguise, Nekros could look completely different, often choosing a guise to hide his features. He could not only appear as someone else, but even adopted mannerisms, modify his voice, or appear to change his very form. Few would guess his profession fewer still knew his face. Feryl swallowed hard, fighting the sudden urge to run. Instead, he extended the proffered sword hilt first.

The man grasped the sword, tilting the blade so the tip menaced too close to the boy's throat. "The Manos Blade…. Very good, Feryl." The deadly sword point withdrew, "I'm impressed. I see your skills are as sharp as ever" The man stepped a bit closer, those dark eyes intent on the boy's face to notice the blood on his mouth and chin. "What's this?"

The boy flinched, dropping his gaze to the ground. His throat worked as he swallowed back rising fear. Lying would be futile. Somehow Nekros could sense when he would lie, and often punishment was made worse. "M-Master Kendari was there-"

Although Nekros was remained stoic and unmoving Feryl sensed his sudden tension. "He saw you?"

Feryl lowered his chin now, all cockiness gone. "Yes." His voice was barely a whisper. "But I got the sword-!"

Nekros moved quickly, his hand shooting out like a viper to grip the boy by the throat and shove him back against the wall in the dark ally. Suddenly Feryl couldn't breath, and tried to remove the unforgiving hand to no avail. "Have I not taught you that you must _ever_ remain in the shadow?" He spoke in the same calm voice.

Feryl nodded quickly, his lungs feeling as though they might burst. The pressure wouldn't relent and he wondered if his grip might break his neck. Nekros leaned close, his dark pitiless eyes just inches from the young boy. "Discovery could prove your death. How often have I told you this?"

The boy couldn't speak, feet scrambling on the cobblestone beneath him in a futile attempt to run away. His eyes closed, and he tried to nod as everything started to go dim.

As suddenly as the man had grabbed him, the grip released him to fall to the ground. Feryl coughed and retched, trying to gain lost air.

"You are getting much too impetuous, Feryl." Nekros said in a voice too calm for what he was doing, sending a kick to his chest. Air was forced out of lungs once more, and something snapped upon contact. The elf sprawled to the cobblestone to gasp like a fish out of water. The world spun, growing faint. "Let this be a lesson to remember what I've taught you-" Pain shot up his arm when Nekros crushed his hand beneath his boot. "And to do exactly as I tell you to do."

Only a strangled gargle of pain and fear managed passed his lips. He wanted to beg and plead for mercy, but experience had taught him there was no appealing to the man's sense of pity. He had none. All he could do is suffer through another beating, and hope Nekros healed him back to right. Grunting in pain, Feryl tried not to make a sound. Nekros wouldn't allow that, noise would make things worse. Clenching teeth he endured.

Expecting another blow, Feryl curled up to protect vital areas. The foot, however, never fell this time. In fact, Nekros had grown suddenly very still, his attention drawn to the silhouette of a man behind them. A whisper of steel drawn from a sheath was loud in the narrow alleyway.

"Perhaps you should pick on someone your own size." A familiar voice suggested angrily. Master Kendari had appeared from the entrance to the narrow alleyway, having been searching for the boy and his lost sword.

Feryl remained still, unable to move or even lift his head. His breathing came in quick, pained gasps as each breath reminded him ribs were broken.

"This doesn't concern you." Nekros warned him off.

Master Kendari sneered in his contempt. "Bullies always concern me. Now step away from the boy."

Feryl wasn't sure why, but the quick glance directed at him from his master frightened him more than the actual beating. He wasn't sure what he saw in the pitiless eyes that assessed him on the ground or what Nekros planned to do to him once they returned to their home. There was no doubt, the master assassin would kill Kendari and finish what he started.

Feryl blinked away the tears in his eyes from the pain and despair he felt. He watched as Nekros withdrew his own sword at his hip, and descended on the warrior. Why had Kendari bothered? He must want that sword very much…

Sounds of steel clashed in a wild, frenzied battle. Feryl couldn't see, as he lay huddled in the filth. It hurt too much to move, let alone sit up. They had moved from the ally to the street beyond. Part of him wanted to watch, to see the deadly game between the two. Nekros had told the young elf of this man's prowess. Kendari had battled man and beast all his life. Some stories were that of legend. The assassin, however, was also a renown killer. The clash of the two would be extraordinary indeed.

Inevitably, the sounds ceased and footsteps drew near. Feryl cringed, moving in a futile attempt to crawl away. A whimper mixed with gasp of pain gurgled from his throat, and something brushed his face.

"Hush now…You're safe." Master Kendari's voice murmured to him softly. "It would seem your master has abandoned you."

Feryl sucked in another painful breath, squinting through eyes to see where Nekros had gone. _He…left? But…why?_ There was no sign of the assassin. He couldn't begin to fathom Nekros' purpose to leaving him, only that Nekros never did anything without reason. _Why? Why had he thrown the fight and left me?_

A warm hand touched his forehead, providing a measure of calm over him. He heard the swordsman hiss in disgust at seeing how badly he'd been beaten, and was careful in assessing his wounds.

"I'm afraid you have some broken bones, lad." The man spoke low. "Here now…"

Feryl bite his lip as the man carefully picked him up to cradle him in his arms. Pain exploded in his chest making it very hard to breath, and other parts of his head and legs felt as though they were on fire. The swordsman murmured comforting words, taking him out of the ally and to the gods only knew.

Just kill me, Feryl thought, pressing his head against the warmth of the man. Save me the pain later. Nekros would perhaps kill him this time, but unable to care or think straight, the world finally blanked out.

--------------

Feryl woke finding it incredibly difficult to breath with his chest swaddled in bandages. Blankets were tucked around him as he lay on a bed. Eyes felt as though sand had been rubbed in them, and his mouth was raw and parched. He tried to cough, but pain gripped his chest in an iron fist.

"Here…" A voice spoke gently, with something touching his lips. "Drink."

Blinking, he tried to see, then attempted to clasp the cup to his lips only to fumble and nearly spill the contents over him. "Easy now…" The voice was lulling, the hands gentle and persistent with doing the work for him. "Just drink."

The cup didn't offer water, which he wanted, but something oily and sweet. A healing potion spread warmth and strength back into battered limbs, knitting the damage of bone and muscle. The relief from pain left him gasping as he fell back on the bed to orient himself.

"Want some water?" The voice asked him.

This time he could open his eyes, the blurry vision clearing as the potion took effect. Eyes blinked into focus, finding a young girl sitting on the edge of his bed. She wore a servant's cap with strawberry blond curls escaping to frame her look of concern. Feryl had seen her now and then late in the evenings when he watched the school, while she washed dishes or sat in the kitchen to patch clothes. He would often paused in his lurking to admire her from afar, knowing her name was Lyra.

So close to one he was always meant to avoid suddenly triggered panic in him. Jerking back, he scrambled in an effort to get away. Disoriented, confused, and still not completely healed, he floundered off the small cot they'd placed him in. Stumbling on legs gone too weak, his body simply gave out from under him, leaving him face down on the rough floorboards. He wore only the remains of his breeches, and half his body was wrapped in tight cloth. A hand was splinted, and nothing seemed to want to work.

"Its alright!" The girl tried to assure him, "I wont hurt you!" Her face contorted into a look of confusion.

The girl's cry had alerted others. The door opened and master Kendari had arrived with another man Feryl recognized as one of the other trainers in the school. Kendari immediately sensed what was wrong, seeing the young boy rushed into a dark corner.

"Lyra shut the drapes." He ordered, stiff-arming the other man to stay where he was. "Both of you need to stay back. Give him room."

Three pairs of eyes were then upon him as Feryl huddled in the corner. He felt exposed with only a curtain of hair to hide him. The sunlight had faded with the curtains now shut, but his fear was still bright. How did he manage to be shut into the room in the very school he escaped from a day earlier? Feryl had no memory of how he got here.

Staring back at them, the elf child had every muscle tensed and ready to fight if they so much as took a step towards him. He was panting hard, unable to draw in a deep breath for the tight wrappings wrapped around his chest. Grimacing, the boy feared he might pass out from lack of air. From what he could assess of his injuries however, he was healing rapidly from the potion the girl had given him.

Why? Why had they taken him in after he stole from them, and nearly killed the sword master with his own blade?

"Its all right." Master Kendari murmured softly, keeping movements slow. "We're not going to hurt you. Do you remember what happened last night?"

The boy's eyes blinked too quickly as memories flashed across his face. Nekros' was beating him, feet stomping, and Kendari's timely arrival- Feryl wanted to crawl into the wall behind him. The three pairs of eyes staring so intently unnerved him, not accustomed to ever being seen let alone stared at.

"Maybe he doesn't understand Common." The other man suggested, curious to this wild lad cowering in the corner.

Merthisan shook his head. "No he spoke the other night."

Feryl cursed to himself the foolishness of ever speaking to anyone. If only he kept his mouth shut- The swordmaster took a step, wrenching a growl from the cornered elf. He had no weapons, and nowhere to go. Trapped, all he had was bare hands, one of which was held in splints.

"You're safe now." Master Kendari assured him, keeping a respectful distance. "Why did your master beat you? You had the sword. Wasn't that what he wanted?"

Feryl considered saying nothing. Hadn't Nekros always told him that no one was to see him, and he was never meant to speak to anyone but his master? Yet the assassin had left him, leaving in to be captured. He sensed this man meant him no harm. Hadn't he brought him healing?

"I- I was caught." He stammered.

The other man twisted his face into a scowl. "Your master beat you that badly for just getting _caught_? But you escaped-"

"Renis." Merthisan murmured, indicated for him to leave. "I will handle this." The man Renis gave a knowing look and ushered the girl to come with him, shutting the door behind them for privacy. The swordmaster turned back to the cowered elf. "Your master had you steal the sword?"

Feryl nodded slowly. He looked around the room, seeing the storage rooms of the school. There was no way out, no place to hide. If he was alone, he might be able to undo the latches of the windows, but he was in no condition to scale a wall to freedom. Remaining as he was, the boy forced the words out. "What are…you going to do to me?"

What would be worse; given to the city guards or given back to Nekros? Nekros often told him they killed Dark Elves rather than cage them up. They were too dangerous to keep alive. The young dark elf frowned, wondering why this man seemed intent on helping him after what he'd done.

"You need a few more days before you're healed enough-" Merthisan Kendari told him. "Perhaps you could make amends. I will admit I know little about you, but clearly you're in need of help. By my oath, I'm bound to offer you such help as needed. As you stay here, I will ask you do not steal and to do as you are told." He continued, "And to stay within this room to let your body rest and heal properly. Alright?"

This man mystified Feryl. Nothing of this made any sense. But exhausted from excitement and aching from falling off the bed, all he could do is nod. When the man offered to help him back to cot, the boy accepted and almost welcomed the comfort of a true bed with covers. Kendari offered him water to drink, and covered him again with the blankets.

"There now." Merthisan smiled, "Rest up. Tomorrow we will speak more of what lies ahead."

Feryl was abruptly reminded of the night he watched a father tucking his son into bed. Without the darkness and closed walls of his closet to protect him, Feryl buried himself back under covers. The swordmaster seemed to remain only a moment longer before he finally left, shutting the door behind him. Only when he was alone did he feel comfortable enough to fall back asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Healing

Feryl awoke hours later alone in the storeroom. Whatever healing potion he'd been offered before had long since faded, and finding comfort on the narrow cot was near impossible. By the lengthening shadows, the boy could tell the day was fading to night. He rolled over having to force himself to sit up. A few moments, he remained sitting on the edge of bed until the pain subsided enough to try getting to his feet. His chest hurt, everything hurt but it was a dull ache as opposed to what he experienced before. A pronounced hobble came from something strained in his thigh, and a foot cramped from something that had broken when Nekros crushed him underfoot.

Using the crates and wall for balance, he limped towards the window, daring to peek out into the darkening sky. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the sun. He was expected to be 'home' well before the sunrise, and never allowed to leave until the dark of night.

Full daylight was painful to his eyes being so accustomed to the night life, but times his master allowed him out of the closet, he'd often try to find moments to watch the sun rise and set. This time of year, the sky was glorious in all its colors with purples and pinks intermingling with hues of red and orange. Clouds were wisps of color like ribbons across the horizon. In his dark world, the rising and setting of the sun brought color and vibrancy back to his life.

"You seem as though you've never seen the sun before." A girl's voice startled him. He hadn't heard her approach, too mesmerized by the setting sun and his own thoughts. She stood in the doorway with a tray of food, a soft smile on her curved mouth. How long had she been standing there?

A rush of strong emotion he couldn't begin to describe washed over him. Fear perhaps, but also excitement. Feryl never had friends, had no one to talk to except Nekros growing up. He never even met another person near his age. He blinked back at her, seeing the girl in a new light. Before he could only admire her from afar, now she was close enough to touch. In the daylight, the creamy white of her skin almost glowed, with the slightest tint of pink upon each cheek. Her blue eyes twinkled.

She wore simple homespun of a dress a size too big for her, with an apron that was dusted with flour. Colors of drab green and brown were in direct contrast to the vibrancy of her eyes. A servant's cap imprisoned her strawberry blond hair, leaving only a few loose curls to touch along a rounded cheek.

The girl let her smile widen, almost blushing at him when she realized he stared back at her. "I never met a Dark Elf before."

Feryl found he was suddenly very self-conscious, knowing she studied his face, compared the obvious differences between them. Her eyes were livid blue, while his went from deep red to crimson red depending on the light. She was as pale as he was dark. He shifted uneasily under her scrutiny.

"Is it true you can see at night?" She asked, fascinated.

Feryl nodded, and almost jerked back when the girl stepped forward. Her curiosity was unsettling, and she was peering at his eyes with intensity that threw him guard off. He was a novelty to her, which didn't make much sense being he certainly wasn't the only Dark Elf in the city. Supposedly there were others, but perhaps they were all too dangerous for anyone to approach this close. Another bold step of the girl implied she had no fear of him.

"And you can hear better too, can't you?" Her eyes were focused on the pointed years to either side of his head. There was no apprehension in her eyes, only inquisitiveness.

She reached up to touch what he assumed was an ear, causing him to panic. He nearly lashed out impulsively; instead he retreated until he hit against the wall behind to get away.

She found this humorous, and giggled. "I won't bite." She tried to stifle the laugh behind her hand.

"But I might." He snapped back in warning, feeling his face grow hot.

Her smile faded, and the girl took a chastised step back. "Forgive me." She said in a soft tone. "I suppose that was rude of me. It's just I never saw a Dunmer so young before."

"Dunmer?" He felt his face deepening to scowl. It sounded too much like some form of insult.

Her head tilted and she looked confused, the light brows knitting together in a lovely squint. "You know…Dunmer. A Dark Elf? Its what Dark Elves call themselves."

_They do?_ He stared back, perplexed by this information. This was news to him. He'd never even heard the term before.

"In their homeland, in Morrowind." She explained to his silence.

"Morrowind?" _Dark Elves had a homeland?_ _There was a land filled with them? _He couldn't even picture such a place in his mind.

"Its far east of here, and said to have a giant volcano called Red Mountain. Surely you've heard of such a place?" She was stunned of his ignorance.

He was stunned a bit by it himself. He had wondered what lands lay beyond the Imperial City and that of Cyrodil. Nekros forbade him maps, refusing to even answer questions. Feryl nodded, pretending to know what she was talking about. Why had Nekros never told of this? And for that matter, why didn't the girl seem more afraid of him? He was a dark elf…A Dunmer…whatever they called themselves. They drank blood, were vicious killers- why did this girl show no fear or concern?

"I brought you some stew." She told him, turning away to show him the array of various foods she gathered for his meal, most of which he couldn't even recognize. Everything smelled delicious. "Master Kendari said you're to eat however much you want, but to be careful. Eating too much might make you sick."

Of course, Merthisan would have noticed the body thin from starving, and Feryl was well aware of what happens if you eat too much after a long time of eating nothing. He'd experienced the awful retching, the stomach cramps from eating too much after starving for too long.

"Where is Master Kendari?" He moved carefully back to bed, almost regretting the long walk to the window now. Even the few feet back to bed wore him out.

"He is working at the forge right now. This time of day, if he has no students, Master Kendari will repair weapons, sharpen blades…that sort of thing." Lyra said, looking concerned at how slow he moved. "Shall I check your bandages?"

Feryl looked down at the wrapped cloth, gently easing himself back onto the bed. "Check for what?" They seemed fine to him. A few were stained with brown salve, but otherwise looked fine.

"To make sure you're healing properly." The girl explained. She seemed to not care now if he wanted her help or not, but motioned for him to lie back and she'd inspect the wrappings. "The potions should've done its job, but you still need to check how the bones are healing together properly."

Too weak to protest, he did as was told, and found his body flinching at the contact. Her hands were gentle, but so accustomed to abuse from Nekros, instinct caused him to flinch at any unexpected touch. Fingers probed his chest, then moved to flex and pull the fingers of his hand.

"Does it hurt?" The girl asked him softly, misinterpreting his squirming. No, it didn't, but he was expecting them at any moment to turn painful. He could pick up the faint scent of perfume on her, and grew all too aware of the whisper of her light touch tending him.

He wet dry lips, shook his head.

"Is your name really Feryl?"

"What?"

"Your name…is that your real name?"

"Why do you ask me that?" Feryl scowled. Of course it was his name, what else would it be? Merthisan had asked the same question.

Her faint brows rose up mockingly, unimpressed by his temper. "Because Feryl is Old Common for a stray dog, that's why."

Feryl tensed, now understanding a bit more about his master. Feryl was a perfect name if you're someone's pet. If he had a real name once, that as well as anything concerning his identity was lost to him now. "Yes, my name is Feryl." _One name was as good as any other._ Wasn't that was Nekros often told him? "What's your name?"

He already knew what it was, but felt she might want to be asked, since names were so important to her. "Lyra Facian." She told him. The girl seemed as though she was to say more, but master Kendari appeared in the doorway.

"Ah, you're awake!" The sword master entered room, dressed more casually than before with a leather apron over a basic white tunic and doeskin breeches. The smell of smelt came off his skin as he neared the bedside, taking note of the food eaten, and bandages redone. "And Lyra's taken good care of you I see."

Feryl nodded silently, still trying to comprehend his situation. He still felt a strong urge to find someplace dark to hide, to bolt to freedom. Common sense, however dictated he remain where he was. Somewhere in the darkened streets, Nekros was no doubt waiting for him.

When master Kendari sat on the edge of the bed to inspect the healing injuries himself, the boy felt almost dizzy with fear and trepidation. He had, after all, stolen a valuable sword just the day before. The swordsman seemed to have completely forgotten.

"Easy now." The warrior murmured, being quick and efficient. His blue eyes narrowed in inspection and a low grunt of pleased satisfaction affirmed he was nearly healed. To Feryl's surprise however, Kendari clasped his forearms and pulled them out straight to look at the healed hand now free of splints.

"This is healing nicely…" Merthisan said, but his attention was to wrists and forearms. Feryl frowned, leaning forward to see what he was looking at, and saw nothing unusual. Skin was slightly mottled with bruising, but otherwise looked normal.

The swordsman gave a light chuckle, "See here?" He touched the tendons at the wrist. "I can tell you've never practiced with a sword before."

Feryl bit his lower lip, twitching when the touch shifted to palms. The warriors rough hands scraped over the skin, squeezing and flexing fingers. The contact made him cringe, though oddly he sensed the man would not harm him.

"You've handled a knife though, haven't you?"

How could he tell? The Dunmer boy nodded once, and tried again to see what the experienced fighter saw. The slender fingers were small compared to the sword master's hands. Nails were filthy, crusted in dirt, with the gray hue of skin appearing even darker compared to the human's.

"You know," Merthisan spoke casually, "You're quite the natural when it comes to swordplay." His blue eyes looked up into the boy's deep red, trying to find some reaction or lie. "Have you ever fought with a weapon before?"

Training had encompassed little in the way of fighting, but Feryl had daily lessons in stealth, acrobatics, agility, and speed. Training encompassed learning how to throw a knife with deadly accuracy. But fighting?

"Not really."

Master Kendari made a low grunt in his throat, turning his attention to the uneaten food on the tray. Only a few bites from the bread and some of the stew had been eaten. "You should eat more." He said, moving to stand up. The swordsman spoke to the girl Lyra. "Make sure he finishes the stew, and let him go back to bed. I'll walk you home tonight." He turned back to the young elf. "We'll speak more of this in the morning."

The girl gave a quick nod as the sword master left before turning to her new charge. "Hurry up and eat then." She smiled, handing him the bowl. "Or shall I feed you?"

Feryl scowled, unnerved by her closeness. "I can feed myself." And shoved a mouthful of stew in his mouth to illustrate. The food was excellent. He wasn't sure what was actually in the thick soup, but the broth was savory and warmed him. Fresh baked bread had a chewy crust, with fruit cut up as dessert. He hoped they didn't expect him to finish everything.

Lyra seemed to study his every move. Blue eyes were intent, mesmerized by the novelty of seeing a dark elf. The boy tried to ignore her, wishing she'd leave soon. He considered she might be waiting for him to finish to take the tray back to the kitchens on the first floor. He tried to finish quickly.

"Who was the man that beat you?" She asked suddenly.

Pausing in mid-chew, Feryl had to force himself to swallow the suddenly bland meal. He was uncertain how much information to give her, being that Nekros killed anyone who knew his real identity. "My …master." He said carefully.

"What is his trade?" She persisted.

His mind raced, considering possible answers but knowing the truth was too dangerous to reveal. "A thief." He said quickly, shoving another mouthful in. If he finished the food, she'd leave, or that was his hope.

"So you're a thief too?"

He paused again, growing frustrated with her questioning. He had, in essence, been a thief for Nekros on more than one occasion. He also was lookout for some of the jobs, keeping tabs on city guards or anyone who might alert the watch. Hadn't Master Kendari explained he'd stolen a sword the night before? "Sometimes." He murmured with cheeks full.

"Where are your parents?" The girl asked, sitting with knees pulled up to her chin as she balanced at the end of his bed. Arms wrapped around legs, and she remained only an arm's reach from him. He nearly choked on a bite of bread before forcing it down.

"I don't have parents."

"Oh," Her voice softened, her gaze dropped. "You're orphaned."

Feryl had never thought about family, except for the few occasions he wondered of his origins. Nekros had always told him he was 'found' on the streets. He had no memory to speak of. Her assumption brought up the sudden realization that they were most probably dead. They might even been killed by the master assassin.

He set aside the bowl, no longer hungry. He pushed the tray a few inches to indicate to the girl he was finished, and yet still she remained.

"Why have you never tried to run away?" Lyra asked him.

He shifted uneasily, wondering why she wanted to know. "And where would I go?" _No one would take you in, boy…You're a Dark Elf….They can't be trusted….You're lucky I took you in when I did…_Nekros' words were like poison.

"The Shrine would take you, or one of the guilds." She gave a light smile. "You're young yet. You could find another master. How old are you? I would guess twelve or maybe older?"

He had no answer for her. For him, there was no measure of time or age. He'd been with Nekros for six years, and couldn't remember how old he was when the assassin had caught him. "I guess so." He replied. Fists clenched from growing tension.

"You don't know how old you are?"

By her tone, he knew this was something else denied him. Did she know her age? Her tone shifted into something more guarded. "Why is it you know so little about yourself and world around you?"

Feryl turned away, knowing he'd made a mistake. In his search for answers, he exposed his ignorance and now felt stupid and foolish. "I don't know…" That seemed to have become his mantra, he thought darkly. That caged feeling was growing again, and he had nowhere to hide.

"I'm sorry." Lyra said kindly. Her hand touched his arm. The unexpected contact made him flinch and he jerked away without thinking. She stiffened, looking almost hurt, possibly interpreting him as not wanting anything to do with her. She knew why he was there, had seen the results of what his 'cruel master' had done to him, and neither the girl, nor the sword master could understand the truth of it. He moved away from her needing distance, choosing a few feet to sit near the bed's headboard. Thankfully she kept the space between them this time.

"Your master. He's the one that named you Feryl…didn't he?" Lyra's tone had turned grim, and her brilliant eyes seemed to darken with the sympathy he found there.

The elf looked away, his elegant features pinching. "One name is as good as any other." He muttered, but found he was trying to convince himself more than her. At her silence, he glanced back to find her expression filled with sympathy. For some reason, it angered him. "I don't need your pity." He told her coldly, a sudden anger bubbled up.

_Pity is for the weak_.

"Perhaps you do." She murmured softly.

Temper flared again, and he felt a sudden rush of _anger/fear/frustration_. "It serves me nothing." Feryl spat. Briefly, he considered trying to leave, but where would he go?

Lyra sighed. "It might serve you to gain your freedom-"

"Freedom?" He snapped angrily to cut her off. "Do you think that if freedom was ever an option that I wouldn't have taken it?" The words had spilled out. Feryl realized the years of wanting his freedom had come like a rush, but never daring to think of such an option. Such a choice meant death. For that matter, did he truly have the choice even now? Even the hall walls of the school would not keep Nekros from entering if he wished.

This girl knew nothing of the assassin and what waited for him once he's left the safety of the school. The thought made blood turn cold, and he dug fingernails into palms. The pain reminded him of what he was. "Just get out."

He expected her to get angry, or at fall into tears, but she did neither. Lyra lifted her chin, as her face softened. A sad smile caused her mouth to twitch as if she meant to speak. No words came. Without another word, she gathered up the tray and retreated from his room. He didn't even watch her leave, too mixed up in his thoughts now.

Anger was his first and foremost ally. And anger was completely and unequivocally directed to his master. Only two days out of his captivity, and he recognized immediately that his life was not like others. Lyra obviously did not sleep in a locked closet, nor did she get beaten for a mistaken look or word spoken out of turn.

She wasn't frightened of him, not in the least.

What's more was that Nekros was wrong about Dark Elves. They were obviously not considered the cruel monsters he'd been told. If Nekros was wrong about Dark Elves, he was wrong about him. Or was it all lies? Was his whole life a lie?

Feryl curled up on the small cot, feeling small and alone.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

"Wake up, sleepyhead." A cheerful voice roused the elfling early the next day. Much to Feryl's surprise, he found the girl Lyra had arrived with another tray of food, and behaving as if nothing had happened. To further his disgruntlement, she yanked the curtains open. The room flooded with brilliant morning light, causing the Dark Elf to bury back under the safety of the covers. "Master Kendari has left me instructions that you are to have a bath today."

Feryl dared to poke his head out of the recess of the blankets and winced from the sunlight pouring into the room. "A bath?"

"Yes," She told him, arms folded sternly to cast a discerning eye on the elf. "A bath…it's what civilized people do. Master Kendari said you are to bathe and have some fresh clothes."

He'd been up most of then night deep in thought, trying to sort out promising futures and all the possibilities. Feryl couldn't even remember the last time he'd been awake for 'morning'. Grunting in protest, he stuffed the pillow over his head. Maybe if he persisted to ignore her, Lyra might leave-

"C'mon lazybones." The girl remained undeterred. "The day is wasting, and there's much to do."

Although she was provoking, her words had nowhere near the effect of the wonderful smell of food, prompted him from the bed. Sweet biscuits, tea, and some porridge were the morning fare, with honey for sweetener. The meal was the best me he ever tasted, and he wondered if everyone ate as often as they were offering him food.

Feryl was somewhat relieved Lyra was a forgiving sort. After harsh words with her the day before, he thought she might avoid him. Instead, her arrival with a breakfast tray and all cheers and giggles let him know that for some reason, his words had not bothered her. In fact, in light of her current mood, she wasn't at all hurt by what transpired the day before. He found he rather liked her company.

"And where exactly am I to bathe? Is there a washbasin-?" He asked.

Light brows rose up in surprise "Washbasin? We're a bit modern for that." The girl told him, making herself comfortable on the end of the bed to wait for him to finish eating. "We have a bathing room downstairs."

_Bathing room...?_ He'd never heard of such a thing. A whole room dedicated to just bathing? The idea was intriguing. He soon finished the meal and followed the girl downstairs through the school. Feryl found the windows cast a glaring amount of light, causing him to squint. The school looked very different from the shadowy manor he was accustomed to. The girl paused long enough to put the tray aside in the kitchen, pointing out that if he were to stay, his meals would be taken there and not the room upstairs. Furthermore, he would also be expected to wash dishes when finished, and for that matter, do a number of chores to 'earn his keep'. None of the rules phased the young dark elf. Living with Nekros was nothing but lessons and all the chores within the confines of the apartment.

Only when Lyra led him to the cellar did he feel the relief of darkness. Eyes adjusted to find deep in the bowels of the school, a wondrous room. This was one area, he hadn't guessed even existed.

Master Kendari had fashioned a bathing room for the students to use. A huge cistern filled the one wall where rainwater collected, leading to pipes that then led to a huge furnace for heating. From there, a maze of more pipes snaked to sinks, showers, and a large tub.

The tub was of smooth carved stone inset against the far wall. A shelf above this kept a lantern for illumination, casting a soft glow about the room. Water was already filling the bath, leaving wisps of steam as the surface bubbled.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Lyra grinned, testing the water by trailing fingers.

Lyra laid out some towels for him, and showed him where the soap was. "Wash up, and I'll get you some fresh clothes and a comb." When she moved to leave, she brushed past him, pausing for only moments to turn and smile at him. Her eyes sparkled. "You won't drown will you?"

He frowned, confused. _Drown? In the tub?_ He looked at the size of the tub, then back at her. How could he possibly drown in water so shallow? Her restrained smile indicated she was teasing him. The humor caught him off guard.

"I will try very hard not to." He told her, still not understanding her at all. She chuckled as she left, leaving him to bath alone.

Feryl touched fingers to the surface of the water and found it hot to the touch. Slipping into the water, the sensation of buoyancy unnerved him until he grew accustomed to the hot water against his skin. After several moments he learned he rather liked the submerged sensations, as well as the delightful experience of soap. Warmth and the silken feel of suds were almost too much for his senses to take at one time.

Nekros had kept only a washbasin. Cleanliness comprised only what was necessary. If not washing with a cloth and basin, Feryl stayed outside in the rain to get drenched. He rarely felt as clean as this tub provided him. Odd how she mentioned the word 'civilized' to him, he pondered. _Civilized_...wasn't that what Nekros claimed to do by beating him senseless? Yet the man didn't have a tub, or give him proper clothes, or even a comb!

Once washed, he rested his head back against the stone, enjoying the warmth of water against his skin. The hot water eased aching muscles, and released some of the tension that had built up.

-----------------------

Lyra found the Dark Elf almost asleep in the tub, or what appeared to be almost asleep. His head was resting against the gentle slope of the stone tub, eyes closed, and a pleasant expression on his handsome face. Yes he was handsome, remarkably so.

He looked different now, with dark skin the hue of light slate, and the long hair slicked back and away from his face. Now she could see him better, without his usual scowl on his face. Yes, he was handsome, she thought to herself, very much so.

Unabashed by his nudity, Lyra was used to seeing the body in its most natural state. Her mother was a high-class courtesan after all. The Blue Lady was one of the finest pleasure houses in all of Tamriel. She was to follow in her mother's footsteps someday, and fortunate for her she could choose to be a courtesan and not a common prostitute. She'd meet nobles and rich merchants, not ruffians and gutter thugs.

A smile curled up at her mouth. Then again…ruffians such as this might not be so bad. She found him intriguing, being she'd never met a Dark Elf her age before. It was said the elven races had so few children, and this was the reason to why you rarely saw them. Dark Elves in particular kept to themselves. So where was Feryl's parents? He admitted he knew nothing of his heritage, and was raised by this cruel master. Getting answers from the boy was like pulling teeth. Short clipped responses offered her nothing in getting to know him at all. He was also tight as a bowstring, and void of any humor. She had yet to see him smile just once.

His eyes opened to crimson slits, the pupils glowing like embers from the low light. Briefly those wondrous eyes looked back at her, subsequently widened as he saw her standing over him. Violently jerking upright, a wave of water splashed over the edge of the tub, onto the floor. It was somewhat comical to see, and her first impression was he was shy. However, the quick frown to his face told her it was not expected her to even be there. In fact, being she already saw him practically naked before, he hardly seemed aware of what shame might be. Perhaps his name fit him after all. This elf seems such a wild, untamed thing.

"I brought you some clothes." She grinned, setting them down near a bench along the wall. "And if you'd like, I can do something with your hair."

The scowl deepened, and he tentatively touched the top of his head. "What's wrong with my hair?"

"It's a mess."

"I'll comb it."  
"I can trim it-" She started to say, but his look seemed troubled. "What's wrong?"

"You mean cut it?"

"Well that is generally the idea." Lyra told him.

"Short?" Feryl asked.

Leaning over, she grasped a towel to hand to him. "I don't have to cut it short if you don't want me to. Even a trim might be nice, or we can tie it back."

Again, the elfling raised his hand to his head; fingers tugged at the length, and nodded his consent. As long as he was getting cleaned up, he might as well take advantage of being 'civilized' as much as he could. The girl seemed to have more understanding to what that entailed than Nekros did, and he found himself rather enjoying her company.

The clothes she brought were training garments the youths at the school would wear for practice. The tunic was snug to the waist drawn around with a sash like belt. The color was deep blue, with the neckline trimmed in black. Sleeves reached to wrists, and the hem drew down past his waist to almost touching thighs. The pants were a bit long in the leg, having to be rolled up at the hem. The material was comfortable soft cotton of basic brown and laced at the waist. Soft-soled shoes completed his attire.

Lyra worked the comb through the length, finding the silky tendrils easy to manage through knots. His hair nearly reached the middle of back when she was nearly through. The color matched the brows and lashes, contrasting well with the gray slate of his skin. He remained quiet as she did her task, and soon found his eyes closing almost catlike as she did so.

The frown soon faded, and his body began to relax for the first time since she met him. As she finished combing, she took up the scissors and found his eyes had popped open with the unmistakable unease as he felt before.

"Just a few inches." She promised him, waiting for the slight nod of assent before trimming his hair. A few inches ended up being enough to leave his hair touching just past shoulders. As she finished up evening the ends, she found him flinching suddenly.

"What's wrong?" She asked, oblivious to the close proximity.

"Nothing." He said quickly.

"Are you ticklish?" Lyra wondered, but even as she asked him this she realized she'd brushed against him. Perhaps his reaction was her breath against his ear for that matter. She'd heard rumors of how sensitive they were.

His lips tightened. "A bit." She decided not to press the issue.

"Almost done." Lyra moved to the other side. When she finished cutting hair, she took the remaining length and tied it snug against the nape of his neck. "There now." She grinned, handing him a mirror. "You look like a gentleman now."

Feryl jerked back from the image in the mirror, then blinked a few times. He lightly touched fingertips against his face, as though he'd never seen himself before. No longer did hair hide his face from the world, instead was drawn back to reveal a face with glowing red eyes and stormy gray skin. The pointed ears were also now prominent, and it was clear, he wasn't sure if this was a good thing.

"Don't you like it?" Lyra asked, noticing his reaction

He touched his cheek with light fingertips, then his ears. "I...I don't know."

"You know, you shouldn't hide your face." She blushed as her own forwardness. "You're very handsome. Even more, now that we can see your face."

His attention shifted back to her, with an incredulous look. Feryl obviously doubted her claim. Unable to find a response, he looked back in the mirror still not believing the young dark elf looking back was actually him.

"Master Kendari told me once you've washed up, you're to meet him upstairs in his office." Lyra busied herself with picking up the cast off rags he once wore, and used towels,

Feryl set the mirror back where it belonged on the shelf and turned to leave. Pausing briefly in the doorway, he turned back. With a slight bow and awkward beginning of a smile on his mouth, he spoke softly. "Thank you,… Lyra."

It was Lyra's turn to be startled, "You're very welcome."

------------------------------------------

Master Kendari's 'office' was more of a storage room, with every manner of piece of junk littered the shelves and tables. From books to old leather armor, to scrolls, and bottles made for a space set aside for chaos. The aged warrior used this for his personal space, keeping a bed to the far end of the room behind a row of barrels, and a makeshift workshop to the other end of the room. Here he could think, and for a short time stop being the sword master and be a simple man enjoying a simple life.

A soft knock alerted him to the young elf hovering near the open door. The boy's transformation took the sword master off guard, letting him forget he had been a ragged street thief not the day before. No longer did a curtain of hair hide the elfling's face, and his lean frame now wore clothes that actually fit, making him appear older.

"Is that really you?" He grinned. "I doubt anyone will be able to recognize you now."

The boy self-consciously touched the trimmed hair and clothes. "Lyra helped." He said awkwardly.

Master Kendari motioned for him in the room, shoving a stack of papers off a nearby crate for the lad to take a seat. Once settled, the boy still looked as though he was ready to take flight at a moment's notice.

"Have you given more thought of staying?" Master Kendari asked him.

"I'd like to stay." The young boy admitted. His eyes darted around the room, taking a quick assessment of the number of items about the room. Merthisan wondered if the boy simply behaved out of habit, or was he curious to what half the items were? Some items such as the soul gems and exotic weaponry from foreign lands might be of interest. He could only hope the lad was simply curious and not hoping to steal him blind while he slept.

Which brought the matter of his arrival to mind. The boy had tried to steal a valuable sword, so would have to prove himself to be trustworthy. Kendari folded arms and looked sternly at the boy. "Very well, " He said, "There are a few rules you need to follow." He watched the young elf listen attentively, trying to judge what thoughts were beyond the red eyes. "There'll be no more stealing-" The boy nodded, having expected at least that much. "You will need to do your share of work around here," Another quick nod. "The storage room will be yours, you can come and go as you please," Arched brows lifted in surprise. He had not expected any level of freedom. "And I will need to know who your master is."

To this the elfling reacted with a stiffening of his back, and a quick indrawn breath. His mouth opened, only to have a stammer come out before he finally managed the words. "I...I can't." He managed.

"You must." Merthisan persisted. Why was the boy so afraid?

"But he'll kill me."

"You will be safe here, Feryl." Merthisan winced at using that so-called name. It sounded too much like an insult than someone's identity. He'd have to figure out something else later. "He can't hurt you while you're under my care."

Feryl's mouth worked, as he considered what to say. The boy looked down, and then locked a firm gaze onto the swordmaster with grim resignation. "I can't stay then…unless I tell you?"

Merthisan hadn't expected the boy to remain steadfast in his secrecy. In fact, the thought hadn't even occurred to him the boy would be anything but grateful and eager to move on with his life. Faced with putting him back on the streets didn't seem a viable option however. He sighed in frustration. "No…no of course you can stay. I've taken an oath to protect those who need it." He rubbed his face in agitation. "Do you plan on staying within the school forever? Eventually you'll need to venture out, and what then?"

Feryl looked away, as thoughts were considered and thrown away. "I could learn to fight…"

"So you're staying in the school until you can fight him?" A child's dream, he thought to himself. But when the boy's head bowed in an attempt to hide his face, the sword master felt too sympathetic to speak further on this matter. "Fine…you can stay. We'll figure something out…eventually."

He expected Feryl to brighten then, to be content with the time being he was safe, but the boy remained oddly silent. The quiet was frustrating. Someone his age should be filled with questions and chattering of things about the world. In light that he was given a second chance, a chance to have a future, Merthisan expected him to at least seem _happy_ about it. Instead, the young elf was seated in a strange cloak of self-control unheard of someone this young.

"Well since you're dressed for practice," The sword master said, "Shall we get started?"

"You're going to train me?" To this Feryl perked up.

"Now is the best time, don't you think?" Merthisan said. Now he saw the brightness in the boy's face. About damned time!

------------

Feryl enjoyed learning. Most of his life he'd spent in some form of study, from books to knife-work, to lock picking, to any number of subjects from poisons to anatomy. For a boy no allowed games or toys, the studies took their place. But the biggest difference between training with his old master and training with Master Kendari is that Kendari expected questions. The young Dunmer had been trained simply absorb the information, and learn it without question.

He already knew how to handle a knife. A short blade was almost a toy for a youth who had no playthings. He could spin a razor's edge with speed and deftness with just one hand, spinning the weapon in an impressive display. He could throw with deadly accuracy to a target at distances most would baulk at. A sword, however, was different. Bulkier, heavier, and requiring more strength, Feryl found the practice sword encourage a sense of power. Within his hand, a longer blade felt stronger, and having more impact. Something within him seemed to stir, almost like a memory as how to grip the hilt, and balance oneself on legs to accommodate the steel.

Things were slow at first, with the swordsman showing him the best stances and blocking techniques. Feryl knew he was taking things slow, and not wanting to hurt him. This concept was so new to him. Nekros never hesitated to hit or even draw blood. Such methods, the assassin felt, taught him quickly and most effectively. Most damage was easily remedied with a healing potion, and Feryl had long since endured pain in his short life.

"Very good." Master Kendari told him, impressed with how quickly Feryl absorbed the first lesson. He was assessing the boy as well, finding him rather advanced for his age and lack of experience. The boy moved with all the grace, strength, and stamina of an acrobat. He also did exactly as told, never being told twice, or even asked questions. For a man who taught many young students, accustomed to a boy's inquisitiveness or even inability to focus, this was almost disturbing.

As Feryl moved through the positions and fluid body movements, he knew he had nearly mastered the delicate dance-like practice. Though seemingly pointless, Merthisan explained the 'dance' would strengthen the necessary muscles to handle the sword he held in his hand.

"You're a natural," Merthisan told him. "But we should stop now."

"Stop?" Feryl blinked, curious that they had only been at this for a few hours.

"We'll only do lessons in the morning hours." The sword master explained, motioning for him to replace his sword to the shelf. "We still have to go through what chores you're to do, and what things will be like here for you."

Without question or complaint, Feryl simply did as he was told. After lessons, he was to take yet another bath, dress in clean clothes, then find Lyra to be told what chores needed doing. Most of which were simple tasks around the school, helping her wash dishes, clean out the stove, haul in the wood, and other tedious work.

Despite being exhausted by the end of the day, Feryl felt the day had been the easiest of his life.

_I felt this chapter should lead into his 'new life', more of a transitional chapter. Lately I find its been tough getting into the groove of writing because of getting a wisdom tooth taken out, and my son being sick with a cold. I'm hoping to get another chapter out by Monday. Wish me luck!_


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Merthisan noticed that adjusting to the daytime schedule was not easy for Feryl, but he maintained the routine without objection. Each morning, he woke at dawn, ate his breakfast in the kitchen with Lyra, and then met in the practice room for lessons. Afterwards, he would then bathe, dress, and do any of the chores around the school; all of this, without question or complaint.

In the practice room, Merthisan watched Feryl follow through one of the many exercises he was expected to complete in a certain amount of time. He had practiced the dance-like movements for two weeks without delay or interruption. Each stance flowed into the next, teaching balance, but also speed. He was stronger now, had gained some weight, but the same guarded fierceness remained ever present in his face. The red eyes were set determined and focused, with the mouth pressed into a grim line. The dulled practice sword came alive in his hands as he twisted, parried, and thrust at invisible attackers.

Sweat beaded on his brow, plastering loose hair to cheeks and forehead, with clothes also damp at chest and under arms. Never had Merthisan known a boy so focused on his learning. _Neither have I known such an obedient child_, the swordsman considered. And this worried him. Feryl rarely smiled, rarely spoke, or dared to ask questions. He did simply followed orders and absorbed everything like a sponge. _One could never ask for a better student, so why does it feel wrong that he behaves in such a manner?_

As he watched the boy move, he contemplated his concerns. He doesn't have fun. That was it. The boy simply had no idea what play meant. To him, the lessons were enjoyable but not to be enjoyed. They were work. They were expectations he had to perform, despite his own feelings if he wanted to or not. What must his life have been like to destroy that marvelous joy of humor and fun?

When Feryl completed the exercises, he moved back into 'first position', waiting for the next command.

"I need you to help clean out my office today." Merthisan told him, moving to gather up a towel to wipe off sweat from his own face. Practicing with students almost half his age wasn't easy on the 'old man'. This one in particular could run circles around him.

Expectantly, Feryl said nothing but followed him up the stairs into the chaotic mess called his office. Lyra had already started by clearing off shelves to re order the items there. Her usual garb of an overdress of homespun shrouded her light frame, and hair was tucked neatly in her servant's cap. Her face practically glowed whenever she was to work with the new addition to the school. Feryl seemed oblivious to her attention, or perhaps he was aware and chose to ignore it. More likely, the sword master thought to himself with a smile, he didn't know how to handle her attention.

"I have some errands to run." Merthisan told them. He trusted Lyra to be sure the chores were done, but also found that he trusted the young elf to do the same. "And you can take these," He indicated three practice shields he had repaired, "To Renis downstairs for his class. I'll be back in a few hours."

Lyra chirped an affirmative, hopping off a box she'd been using to reach the higher shelves. Knowing Feryl was to help her, she had been looking forward to some time with him. Though he was not a talkative sort, she liked his company. He had the most amusing reactions to her and her comments. She also enjoyed being left in charge.

"Go ahead and replace the books up there." She told him, now accustomed to giving him orders. "I'll start on the next shelf."

The dust was a layer thick, and the girl refrained to comment to master Kendari about the filth. This room had always been off limits to her up until today, and ever since she had started working as 'maid' for the school, she'd been itching to see the wondrous items the famed hero had collected over the years.

Apparently, so did Feryl. He picked up a purple crystalline object, admiring the colors and play of light and color. Long fingers touched the surface as if sensing the magic within the item. Tiny orange sparkles dance within the lavender colors.

"A soul gem." Lyra told him.

Feryl looked at her perplexed.

"It's a soul gem." She repeated, picking up a smaller light blue crystal. This one had flecks of red. "They are used to enchant weapons. Master Kendari had trapped several creatures' souls in his travels. I think he said this one has a goblin in it."

The elf boy didn't seem to believe her, and his attention had already drifted to the books he was meant to restack on the shelf. He picked up the top book, turning it over to read the spine. Lyra frowned, as she realized he was reading the title.

"Do you know how to read?" Thieves and other common criminals were often uneducated.

The boy nodded, obviously confused once again to her question. Didn't everyone? "Are we allowed to read these books?" He asked her. The tome was something to do with lore from a place called Valenwood.

"Certainly. I'm sure you need only ask master Kendari. He's teaching me to read too." Lyra leaned over his shoulder to look at the words that had no meaning to her as of yet. "What does it say?"

"The Armorer's Challenge." He read aloud.

Lyra made a face, "Not one of my favorite stories." Picking another book she handed it Feryl to read. "And this one?"

"The Art of War Magic." He recited.

The girl made a face, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Ugh! What is with Master Kendari and this whole business of killing? Doesn't he have any good stories?"

Feryl wasn't sure what she meant by stories, let alone good ones. His own experience with books had been only about instruction with a scattering of history. One by one, as he stacked the books, he read the title to which Lyra had no interest. They were mostly of smithing, weapons, and war tactics.

"What about this one?" Lyra handed him a smaller tome.

"The Gold Ribbon of Merit." He read, only to find the girl's face brighten.

"Oh that one! Read that one!"

"But I thought we're suppose to finish cleaning this place…?"

"We can take a break." Lyra tugged his arm, forcing him off the crate to join her on the floor. "Its not a long story. C'mon read it to me!"

Part of him wanted to finish the work they had started, but Lyra seemed intent that taking a break. By her eagerness for him to read to her, she wasn't about to let him get back to work until he did what she wanted. Resigned, he sat on the floor beside her, and opened the book.

Lyra settled very close beside him, leaning over to see the words yet not understanding yet what they meant. "Do this." She told him, using a finger to run along the mysterious words.

He leaned forward, and began to read the story, most of which didn't make sense. He never read a 'story' before, let alone one of fiction. He also never read something for amusement's sake. The tale unraveled, catching the young elf in a marvelous chronicle of two archers and a simple competition. There were descriptions of different methods of drawing a bow, and challenging of skills. Feryl found the subject fascinating.

Also aware of the girl sitting so close beside him, the elf felt…comfortable. For the first time in his life, he enjoyed the close proximity of someone else, the body heat against his own. A gentle hand rested against his forearm, and her shoulder pressed against his own when she leaned towards the book. Her eyes followed along the words, sparkling as the story unfolded. As the book ended with a twist, Feryl found the girl clapping her hands.

"You read very well." She said with a grin. "I can't wait until I can read as well!" Lyra paused to notice something on the boy. "What's this? A smile?"

Feryl lowered his chin, self-conscious of her staring and teasing him. The tiniest of smiles pulled at the corners of his mouth. "I know how to smile." He told her, feeling awkward. He couldn't remember the last time he did. Oh yes, a time he'd found a cat that let him scratch the soft whiskers.

"Then do it more often." She laughed, "Because I thought that scowl of yours was permanent!"

Feeling embarrassment blanket his face in heat, the boy decided to change the subject. "We best get the shields to master Renis." A bubbling of giggles greeted him, almost making him laugh himself. The girl was silly, he told himself, but her laugh was infectious. "C'mon."

Feryl took up two of the three shields, letting Lyra carry the last one. He let her take the lead, following her back down through the school. Sensitive ears pricked up to listen for the other teacher. Renis, for the most part, completely ignored his presence. In fact, when he did look in his direction, the obvious distain for the elf was quite clear. Feryl wasn't sure why this was, and decided to avoid the man whenever possible, and stay out of his way.

Lyra told him little about this other Imperial, only that her tone also indicated she was not as fond of him as she was to Master Kendari. "He's not as patient as Master Kendari is." She tried to explain. "He focuses on battle and winning rather than the art of fighting. But he's a good teacher of the staff and spear."

Feryl wasn't sure what she was talking about. Wasn't winning the point of any fight?

Renis was thinner than the swordmaster, younger, and had a few inches over Kendari. He had brown hair, cropped short, with a trimmed beard on lip and chin. He was a dark man, with chestnut hair and eyes having a deep, almost amber shade. The jaw line was sharp, distinctive. His face always carried a tightness at mouth and eyes that seemed to Feryl he was hiding something. He didn't trust him, and wondered how Kendari came to know him.

Moving towards the open doorway of the practice area, Feryl found himself staring back at master Renis, but also two of his young students. Startled, he nearly dropped the shields, and gaped at the cat-like creatures standing in the center of the room.

Khajiits! He'd only heard of them before, and saw them from afar. His nightly excursions often encountered them on the streets, even on the rooftops, but not as close, not in the light of day.

Standing upright, the creatures looked back with eyes of tawny gold. One was mottled with browns, whites, and blacks, with his companion having a more uniform gray. They wore the same loose practice clothing as Feryl wore, holding staves in their clawed hands. Both seemed as surprised to see him, as Feryl was of them. Long tails twitched in agitation.

"A Dunmer?" The mottled Khajiit hissed. The wide-eyed surprise soon narrowed to open loathing. Feryl wasn't sure what he'd done to earn the cat-like beast's ire.

"He is Master Kendari's new student." Renis told them. A quick jerk of his arm indicated where they were to place the shields against the wall.

The gray Khajiit made a low growl in his throat. "Perhaps the Dunmer would like to spar with Ma'dat?"

Baring teeth in a semblance of smile, or warning, the mottled creature snickered. "Or Jo'rak will take on the cub Dunmer?"

"He's to help me with cleaning." Lyra piped up before Feryl could respond. Hands clasped his arm as if to hold him back, but he made no move to accept their challenge.

Renis had an odd smirk on his face, as he casually leaned against his own sparring staff. "Oh I'm sure Master Kendari wouldn't mind a quick practice session." With a jerk of his chin, he focused on the uncertain elfling. "Care to try against one of them?"

Feryl shook his head. For all his training, he'd never attained 'pride', and he cared little for the opinions of the Khajiits or of master Renis for that matter. Their veiled insults meant little to a boy who'd long since grown accustomed to worse from his master. The office needed cleaning. Kendari had given his orders.

The Khajiit named Ma'dat blew a hiss. "Is the Dunmer cub frightened? Ma'dat won't hurt much." He bared teeth, extending claws. "Ma'dat will use only the stick."

"Its only practice." Renis added. He offered his own staff, but Feryl shook his head again, turning to leave.

"Ah its because Dunmer are better at enslaving and assassinating than actual fighting." One of the Khajiits hissed behind him. Feryl spun back, startled at the words directed to him. Enslavement? Assassins? His tone indicated the creature knew something he did not. "Perhaps Jo'rak will turn his back, and the Dunmer red-eye will want to fight then?"

"C'mon Feryl." Lyra interrupted, tugging his arm. She looked almost frightened. "We need to finish cleaning up the office."

"Feryl!" The mottled cat chortled. "A stray dog?" He laughed some more, joined by his companion. "Come little pup, let's see if you have teeth!"

"Enough Ma'dat." The gray one sneered, "its obvious this one knows little of his kinsmen in Morrowind. That one knows nothing of being a fighter."

The words confused the young elf who had no experience with the banter between opponents. Nor could he understand the verbal barbs against his heritage. He did, however, suspect they knew something he did not concerning Dunmer. The fact they immediately hated him seemed to only fuel the words Nekros had so often told him of Dark Elves having a 'dark nature', that they were feared, even hated. With the Khajiits reaction to him; this seemed to be true.

"What did he mean?" He asked Lyra as he followed her back upstairs.

"About what?" She said over her shoulder.

"About enslavement, and assassins."

Her silence was loud as she continued back to Merthisan's office, pausing slightly before answering him. "In Morrowind, slavery is still legal." The tone grew hesitant as she saw the intent stare from the young elf boring into her.

"How…?" Slaves, he thought, were illegal in the Empire of Tamriel. Even he knew that.

She shifted awkwardly, "Something about Morrowind allows them to keep their rules, and laws as they see fit."

"Keeping slaves…" Feryl murmured. Thoughts wondered to his own servitude indentured to Nekros. His enslavement was born of terror and fear. The shackles that had bound him most of his life were of Nekros' making, and molded from years of pain and suffering.

"Yes…keeping slaves." She sighed, "Many Khajiits know of family members who were captured and sold into slavery. I think that's why Ma'dat and Jo'rak don't like you."

"I don't keep slaves." His tone turned sharp and angry. He thought the practice abhorrent, being he was no more a slave himself.

"All they see is a dark elf."

"Dunmer." Feryl corrected with sarcasm. _Dark Elves kept slaves?_ Feryl felt something dark and cold creep into his heart. Morrowind would be the only lands that kept the barbaric practice, and only Dunmer were masters? The thought was disturbing. "And what of assassins?"

Lyra grew uneasy with the topic of discussion, busying hands with dusting a shelf. "From what master Kendari has told me, in Morrowind, there are legal assassins which handle affairs between the noble houses. I don't know how that works exactly, but something to do with the Houses have always warred with one another."

"Its their nature…" Feryl muttered under his breath. He turned and began stacking books, too lost in his own confusing thoughts and feelings to want to hear more.

_One day, you will make a splendid killer, Feryl. It's in your nature._

Nekros had often told him the temperament of Dark Elves. They are eager to fight, hungry for blood. No one could trust them. The assassin had always hinted the reason he even took Feryl as an apprentice was because of his race. What if all that he said of Dark Elves were true? What if Nekros was right about him?

It was obvious Renis didn't trust him, and Khajiits didn't even need to know anything about him before hating the sight of a Dunmer. What if others were like this? Hadn't Nekros said as much?

Lyra and Kendari seemed to like him, despite what he'd done. They didn't even care he was an admitted thief. But Nekros' words haunted him. _Their compassion is what drives them. Their righteousness clouds their focus. They are predictable and weak. _What if he was right about that as well? What if their unfounded compassion was misplaced, and misguided?

Then what am I doing here? Am I just pretending to be something I am not? Is all of this going against what is more natural to me? Feryl wasn't sure. He was angry, frustrated, and wanting to smash something. Nekros' training kept such urges under control. He felt his throat tighten at the knowledge his master's severe teaching might very well be what kept in line.

"Are you alright?" Lyra asked concerned.

"I'm fine." He snapped, wanting her to leave him alone.

Somehow she must have sensed this for Lyra reluctantly grew quiet, and they finished the cleaning without further words. She continued to sneak furtive glances in his direction, furthering provoking his ire for her company. As soon as the office was finished, Feryl retreated to the bathing room to wash up.

Here he could hope to be alone for a bit, and opted to take a quick shower rather than a bath. The day was drawing to a close, and master Kendari was expected to return. Shaking out damp hair, he skipped up the steps by twos as he headed back to his room.

When he found himself upstairs heading towards the kitchen, he was surprised to find the two Khajiits waiting for him in the hallway. They, like any students in the lengthening day, should've left for their own homes by now. He could only guess why they were still around, and immediately he tensed sensing trouble.

They bore no weapons, and even changed from practice clothes to outfits of more ornate silks and velvets. Feryl assumed they must be from a merchant's family or even nobles, Feryl considered. Fur was combed neatly, but fluffed in agitation. Their stiff posture and fur bristled around their heads let Feryl knew they were still itching to fight.

"Red-eye…" The gray creature hissed, moving to stand in his way. "Why you don't want to spar? You too good to fight against Khajiits?"

Feryl wondered where master Renis was, and why these two hated him so. He moved to sidle past the brothers, only to find the gray male move to block his way once again.

"This one can see only beasts, eh?" Ma'dat growled low. Golden brown eyes dilated, as lips drew back to snarl at him.

The young elf saw the paw moving, claws extended. Moving quickly, he dodged the intended blow, grabbing the offending hand and snapped the wrist as he followed through with a knee to the beast's soft underbelly. The Khajiit dropped with a blow of air from his lungs, eyes bulging in surprise and pain. A rumbling growl alerted him to his brother coming to attack from behind.

Jo'rak was preparing to jump, only to find a foot swung fast and snapping square into his chest. The force shoved the force of his jump back, hitting solidly against the wall. The growl turned into a pained yowl as the beast fell to the floor.

"Feryl!" Merthisan's voice boomed down the hall as the swordmaster saw the Khajiits on the floor, and a very angry Dunmer boy standing over them. "That is enough!"

The anger he saw in Kendari's face caused Feryl to back off quickly. He steeled himself for a blow, but found the swordsman preferred to stand in self-controlled severity. The disappointment, however, directed at him hurt just as much.

"What is the meaning of this?" Merthisan demanded. He crouched beside the injured students to inspect the injuries. They gray Khajiit had a broken wrist, while his brother suffered from cracked ribs.

"Feryl," The swordmaster focused now on the silent elf. "Explain yourself."

The boy bowed his head, "They wanted to fight." He rationalized, not understanding what the problem was. They wanted a fight, so they got a fight. Their losing was their fault. Was he to stand there and take a blow? Even Nekros would never stand for him to think such a thing.

Jo'rak licked the blood off his muzzle from where he'd bitten his own tongue. "Words were only spoken!" He growled. "The red-eye has no mark on him!"

"Who struck first?" Master Kendari asked.

Both Khajiits pointed to the now stoic dark elf. Feryl slowly nodded.

"_You_ struck first?" His disappointment was clear. "Go up to your room. I'll deal with you later." The boy had stood only a moment before doing as he was told, hearing the audible hiss from the Khajiits follow him behind.

------------

Feryl found himself sitting on the narrow cot. The boy waited with knees pulled to his chin and arms wrapped around legs.

The room felt too large, as Feryl missed the closed in space of his closet. The windows looked out to the setting sun, setting the timber and plaster walls aglow in pink and purple. At least I have color here; small comfort to one feeling lost and alone.

_I'll never belong here_, he thought. _Kendari hates me now._ _He sees what monster I am. He will send me away. I blew it…stupid so stupid…_

_Seems Feryl can't escape the fact he's a Dark Elf. It's difficult to throw away everything you've learned all your life, and Nekros' influence has been strong. The book he reads to Lyra is an actual book in-game, as well as the other titles mentioned. _


	7. Chapter 7

Feryl heard the door open and lifted his head off of the pillow. He'd fallen asleep as the day had grown to a close. The day's events had worn him out but not so much due to the physical work, but the drain on his emotions. Feelings were not something he pondered until coming to this place, and he found the whole process exhausting.

Merthisan's body framed the open doorway, still dressed in simple tunic and breeches. The tension he had shown before was now gone, even the lines in his face had softened. The boy, however, knew all too well how quickly moods could change, and that he did something wrong. Doing something wrong meant punishment. He scrambled off the bed to stand in the center of the room. There, with head bowed, he waited.

Master Kendari frowned at his behavior, not understanding. "At ease." He told him, thinking the boy behaved as a solider in the Legion. When he approached Feryl, he couldn't help but notice the closing of his eyes behind a fall of unkempt hair, the stiff posture, and the subtle tension of his slim figure lost in the clothes too big for him. Dawning realization made him gasp. _He thinks I'm going to hit him?_

"I'm not here to beat you, Feryl." He said softly. He rested a hand on the boy's shoulder and felt him flinch. "We don't beat our students here."

Feryl turned slightly, daring to look up at the Imperial and was startled to see the man was serious. What's more, the man had no intention of harming him. "But you were …very angry." He said.

"Fighting in the hallways of the school is unacceptable, for whatever reason." Merthisan motioned for him to sit on the bed as he explained. "If you had a problem with them, you should've challenged them-"

"But I-" The boy shut his mouth, realizing he interrupted and braced for a strike that never came. Merthisan simply waited for him to finish. "I didn't want to fight…"

"I know." The swordsman nodded. He moved to sit next to him, blowing out a weary sigh. "Lyra told me what happened earlier today. Those two cubs are a bit too eager for a fight, and I'm afraid I am to fault for that."

Feryl couldn't believe the swordmaster was admitting to a responsibility for the confrontation.

"We do not teach our students to behave in such a manner." The older Imperial continued. "And we certainly do not condone intolerance against another due to their race. Their prejudices are pretty ingrained however."

"Prejudice…." Feryl had never heard of the word before. "What does that mean?"

"It means to hold pre-conceived beliefs over someone because of race, or their religion. Some prejudice is over being poor or rich, or even man or woman." Merthisan tried to give the short version, but the boy looked confused. "Its like saying all Khajiits are thieves, or all Nords are drunk."

"Khajiits are thieves?"

"No Feryl, but that is my point. Of course not all of them are, but someone who is prejudice would think so. "

"So not all Dunmer keep slaves?"

"Not even in Morrowind." Merthisan assured him. "The Dunmer are a proud race and wish to uphold their own laws to maintain their identity. When the Empire sought to invade Morrowind, their leaders agreed to an Armistice. This allowed them the right to conduct laws outside of Imperial's governing. But laws change. People change. Even in Morrowind, I hear, some people are hoping to see the end of enslavement. _Dunmer_, who do not support, nor own slaves."

The words settled some of Feryl's doubts, but he had so many more questions and yet not the words to ask. He sat quiet, ruminating on what was told to him. After a few moments, he spoke in a soft, almost timid voice. "Are you angry with me for what I did?"

Merthisan gave another soft sigh, rubbing the stubble on his chin. "No Feryl…no. I'm not angry with you. You defended yourself. I'm angry with Ma'dat and Jo'rak though. I'm afraid I must expel them now, and Renis is not happy about losing students." He shook his head, "I knew he didn't press upon them a sense of honor or duty, but hopefully we can all learn from this."

The elfling swallowed back fear, but had to know. "So you're not sending me away?"

Blue eyes widened as the swordmaster blustered in surprise. "Send you-? No lad, of course not!" The man shook his head vigorously. "You can stay here. This is your home now."

Something tightened in the elfling's throat. _Home_…such a small word but held so much in meaning. Most of which, he knew so little about.

"And you are not angry with me?" Feryl wondered why cared, but he did.

"No…no of course not. I was angry about the fight. Fighting outside the practice room is not allowed. Understand? You have problems with the students, you let me know."

The boy nodded, and felt a wave of relief spread over him. He was staying. Furthermore, Master Kendari _wanted_ him to stay. He never had sense of belonging before.

His stomach rumbled noisily from missing dinner.

The swordmaster gave a chuckle. "I trust you can find your way down to the kitchen and get something to eat?" He continued at another nod. "I have to walk little Miss Lyra home before her mother worries." Blue eyes twinkled with unknown emotion to the elfling. "And she tells me you've done a great job in my room. Now I can stretch my feet. She also tells me you can read?"

The chin lowered in another tentative nod, unsure if such things were allowed.

"Help yourself to the books whenever you want." Merthisan stood up to get ready to leave. "And if you can read to Lyra, I would appreciate that. The girl never gives me a moment's peace about stories."

Lyra's enthusiasm for the stories jumped in his mind, and Feryl gave a light laugh to what the man meant. She was a very insistent girl for something she wanted. "I think I would like that."

"Good. Now be sure to get some rest. You have lessons in the morning." The swordmaster gave a warm smile before he left, leaving Feryl feeling better than he had in a long time.

--------------_-_------

Finding leftover bread and cold meat, Feryl ate the sparse meal quickly. The meal was not to the extent of what Lyra had made him for the past few weeks, but the simple fare was something he was more accustomed to. He cleaned up the mess he'd made, taking dishes to the sink. Washing the knife, he felt odd being alone in the large school, or what he thought was alone. When a sudden sense of presence came up from behind, he nearly jumped out of skin.

Spinning, Feryl drew up the knife he was washing, splashing water on the floor and facing a stoic master Renis. He stood no more than a foot away. The man didn't flinch, pointedly staring at the blade then back to him.

"Cat-like reflexes." An eyebrow rose up in question. "Impressive."

"I thought you had left…" Feryl stammered, feeling embarrassed for having almost knifed the teacher. Something about the man's behavior was disconcerting however, and he refused to unarm himself. He wasn't certain to what it was exactly.

Renis had approached without announcing himself. The unblinking stare was unsettling, as was the tight expression on his face. For one needing to read body language quickly and accurately for his survival, the elfling recognized the man was very angry.

"Ah, that's right." The man commented dryly. His temper was tightly controlled, like an arrow knocked and ready to fly. "You know all about our schedules, don't you, little thief?"

"I'm not stealing anything." Feryl affirmed. The kitchen felt suddenly very closed in, and he took a step away from the Imperial.

"I didn't say you were." Countered Renis. The eyes narrowed, flittered down and up as if giving a quick and thorough assessment. The gaze remained a bit longer on the knife still in his hand. "You move very fast….for a thief. Not many pickpockets can take on two trained Khajiits."

The elf was abruptly reminded this behavior was very much like Nekros. The assassin would speak words, yet have something else on his mind. Renis was searching for something, perhaps a confession? Feryl refused to respond. He wasn't even sure how.

"I feel that Master Kendari's trust in you is….misplaced." Renis persistent. "And that little stunt you pulled today cost me two of my best students."

"I didn't want to fight them."

"You could've walked away." The man reasoned, firm in his belief the cubs would allow him to do so. Arms folded over his chest as he sneered openly at the boy. "You steal a highly prized sword, nearly kill master Kendari, and are welcomed into the school. Impressive. But then, all master Kendari sees is a poor street urchin lost in the world."

"I didn't-" Feryl defended the truth, hoping to explain he never meant to hurt anyone, but stopped when the man's darkened like a storm. His anger was barely contained now.

"Merthisan is a forgiving man. I, however, am not." He lifted a hand to point a threatening finger to his face. "I'm watching you. You don't belong here. I can tell you're going to be nothing but a problem to this school. You walk out of line, take one step towards trouble, and I report you to the guards. Understand?"

Uncertain of the threat, Feryl nodded. The city guards would arrest him, regardless of what Kendari would say. The law was the law.

"Very good." Renis straightened. "Now I think its best you return to your room."

Glad to be released, Feryl practically threw the knife in the sink and bolted out of the door. His heart fluttered in his chest. Why did the man hate him so much? Did he have prejudices likes the Khajiits? Did all he see was the dark skin and red eyes? Feet carried him to his room, where he shut the door and crawled into bed.

For a time, the boy felt Renis was only an assistant to Merthisan and of no consideration. Now he knew better. The battle line was marked, and he knew he'd have to watch his step with him. Fear of being reported loomed over his head, and even curling up under blankets did nothing to provide him any comfort.

---------------

Lyra arrived in the early morning hours before the school opened. Her chores were always the same she could do them in her sleep. Stoking the hearth, setting water to boil, and preparing breakfast was always top on her list. She also carried clothes the students sweated through to be washed in the courtyard, to be later hung up to dry. Today she would also have to go to market to buy supplies.

As the girl carried the basket of clothing past the practice room, she heard the distinct sound of dulled blades hitting against one another in mock battle. Pausing in her work, she remained to watch Master Kendari show the elf boy some impressive blocking moves.

Feryl had his hair tied back from his face, with a grim set to his jaw as he parried an attack. The dark gray of his skin contrasted against the light blue of the tunic he wore. Weight filled out his slim frame, with the definition of newly formed muscle taking shape in arms and chest. There was also the slight kindling of self-assurance now that wasn't there before.

He was so different from anyone she'd met. For the past few weeks she recognized his distinctness was just as much his race as was his presence. He was quiet for a boy his age, eager to learn, and the world was so new to him. Lyra smiled as she watched him attempt to slide beneath master Kendari's defenses. The sword had feinted however, clearly showing him that he was an experienced swordsman. He was knocked off his feet and landed in a graceful roll.

When he returned to his feet, he red eyes found hers. Lyra felt she saw a smile, but he soon had to block another strike from his teacher.

"Keep your mind on the blade, boy." Merthisan warned him, "You can't let a pretty girl distract you." He added a series of forceful swings of his blade, beating the elfling further back from the center of the practice area. The consecutive strikes caused him to lose ground, backing him into a corner. "You're letting me tie you up, Feryl."

The dark elf looked frustrated now, dropping to the floor to roll quickly to the right. He bowled himself to his feet once again, spinning to block another slice of the blade, and returning to the center of the mat.

"Better." Merthisan smiled. "Now take the offense."

Feryl knew Master Kendari was giving him a deliberate opening, and took advantage. A quick thrust was blocked, so he spun to find his opponent parry that strike as well. He simply couldn't find an opening the man couldn't deflect.

"What am I doing wrong?" He gritted words through his teeth.

"Your letting me anticipate your moves." Came the answer. Merthisan stabbed fingers to point at his eyes. "I can see every move in your face. Guard yourself, but this time let your body decide the right move."

He had to admit, he knew he was telegraphing moves to show Kendari he knew how to do them right. The sword also felt heavy and sluggish compared to the grace of a knife, and he was getting tired. He also wasn't using any of the underhanded tricks Nekros had taught him. This training exempted such methods as Merthisan had told him the first day of training.

Unsure of this tactic to guard his moves, Feryl sucked in a deep breath. He calmed his frustration, and readied his stance. He slipped his face into a mask of no emotion he had learned with facing Nekros. Ignoring the weariness of muscle, the boy flashed forward and swung high. As soon as the blade was blocked, he dropped the point low, then to the side in quick succession. Each blow expectantly averted. He then used his body and spun low, twisting the sword to slash high.

The move was a surprise to Merthisan, who barely caught the blade in time. A wide smile spread over his face, and he backed up to indicate the end of the lesson. "Very good" He said with a pleased nod. "You learn quickly."

Gratification swept over Feryl like a drug, and he couldn't help but smile. He gave a respectful bow. "Thank you, Master Kendari."

"That will be all today." The Imperial slapped him good-naturedly on the back. "I'm sure Lyra has things for you to do now."

She gave him a thumbs up sign and grinned. "Maybe today you'll dare to venture out to the market with me?"

Feryl lost all semblance of guarding at mention of leaving the school. He sucked in a breath and looked nervously to Merthisan. "I'm…not sure."

The swordsman looked reprovingly. "You can't stay in here forever." He told him, "But I will tell you what. I have to stop by the alchemist's today, and you should meet him anyway. Go change, and I will go with you pups to market." Merthisan flashed Lyra a wink. "Maybe we can find some sweetcakes for the both of you?"

She clapped her hands in glee and gave the elf a playful shove to get moving. "Hurry up, Feryl."

Only a moment's consideration had him move towards the bathing room. Inwardly, he had to admit that he was curious to going out into the world during the day. He reasoned that Merthisan Kendari would be with him, in broad daylight, in a public place. Nekros wouldn't dare try anything…right?

_This story seems to be taking longer than I expected, but I suppose the readers won't complain…right? Lol This chapter I wanted to further extend into Feryl's psyche, and to stir up a bit of possible trouble ahead. While playing Morrowind, I was surprised at the amount of bigotry all the races had for one another. Some of them I can understand, such as Khajiits and Argonions might have a dislike of Dunmer for the reasons of slavery. And we all know that Khajiits are all thieves, and Nords are all drunks…right? _


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight:

Merthisan found, not surprisingly, Feryl remained practically under his feet as they roamed the streets towards the bazaar. He was hovering so close he was literally walking in his shade, and keeping the cloak he wore like a shield against those around him. As they headed down the street, the boy cast furtive glances to every ally or dark corner expecting to see his old master. Merthisan doubted the man would be so bold as to try something in such a public place, but one never knew with criminals. He'd have to keep a sharp eye out on the boy just the same.

The swordmaster motioned for them to enter Merchants' Row. Here a variety of shops lined the streets in enticing colors and store banners. Their windows were filled with items Feryl couldn't even begin to imagine their usefulness. Many of the stores also had tables setup to lure customers closer to their wares. The streets were crowded with hawkers and traders alike.

Lyra eyes glittered with all the distraction of various objects catching her attention. She continually lagged behind to look through windows or finger something on a table spread with wares. Pointing out jewelry or unusual dishes, she'd try to explain what the elfling was looking at, before running to another window or table to find something else.

"Stay close, boy." He murmured to Feryl. He didn't have to. The boy was so close, he bumped into the swordmaster, tried to compensate, and then bumped into a stranger. Merthisan couldn't help but chuckle. "Not that close."

Finally stopping at a shop with a sign of a mortar and pestle, Merthisan gave her a wink. "We need supplies." With Feryl's injuries, their stock of healing potions and salves had run low. He also had another idea to bring Feryl here. The proprietor was a Dunmer from the lands of Morrowind.

As they entered the shop, the air was thick with aromas from the myriad amount of alchemical ingredients. On the high counter, an alembic simmered a bright yellow liquid, while a retort purified a brackish substance. Whatever it was, gave off a pungent sweet smell. Flasks and bottles stuffed shelves in neat rows, with bins of herbs and unrecognizable items lined the floor.

Lyra was grimacing to some of the more gruesome ingredients, while Feryl was fascinated with the substance bubbling on the counter.

"Ah Master Kendari, so good to see you!" An accented voice spoke up from the back, gruff but friendly. As the man emerged from the back room, Feryl had to remember to breathe. A Dark Elf!

The shopkeeper was much older, with hair lined in gray streaks through glossy black so much like his own, and having the same dark ashen hue to his skin, though a few shades lighter. The eyes blazed a livid red; even the whites of the eyes carried a vivid crimson hue. Feryl's were white, with pupils a deep wine color.

Garbed in a long robe of deep blue, a wide jeweled belt cinches the waist of his slim form. The long hair was tied back except for two single braids to either side of his head, both wrapped in brilliant red cloth.

The elf was nearly as tall as Kendari but of slighter build. Ears were slightly long, glistening with two gold earrings off his right lobe. The Dunmer had a long face, with high cheeks bones, and a small chin. High arched brows were prominent on the low forehead, and more remarkable was the deliberate facial scarring that rose upon the cheekbones, brow line, and chin. It gave him a savage, dangerous appearance. Formidable indeed when the smile faded and the eyes of blood red focused on _him_.

"By the Three, who is this?"

Feryl felt his heart flutter, and couldn't recognize if the reaction was from fear or excitement. He simply couldn't stop staring at what he was supposed to grow into some day.

Merthisan placed a comforting hand upon the boy's shoulder. "This is …Talis." He hesitated before speaking his 'name'. Feryl looked up at him, curious to why he gave a false name. He then remembered the meaning of Feryl, and the reactions he'd received from others. Perhaps Kendari meant to also protect his identity.

The Dunmer smiled gently which didn't meld well with the appearance of such a sinister face. "That's an unusual name for a Dunmer boy here in the city. Welcome to my shop, Talis"

"This is Muthsera Relamus Hlarys of the holy city of Vivec." Merthisan continued, giving the alchemist a respectful bow. "He's from Morrowind."

The Dunmer gave a soft grunt, waving his hand dismissively. "The title is hardly necessary, Master Kendari. And I told you a hundred times, I'm from the tribes, not originally from the city of Vivec." He turned back to 'Talis', "And its pronounced Rel-A-mus."

The elf's friendliness contradicted his fearsome appearance.

Merthisan gave Feryl a knowing smile, and turned to the shopkeeper for business. "I have need of some of your healing potions and salves."

The Dunmer grunted, "No doubt beating the stuffing out of those unfortunate students of yours." He muttered in jest. Shuffling to fill the order, he spoke to Lyra. "And when is the young miss taking up the sword?"

Lyra giggling, having been focusing on some dried flowers arranged to hang on a low shelf. "Ladies do not fight with a sword, Muthsera Hlarys. We use our wits!"

"Nonsense!" The Dunmer feigned surprise, but the twinkle of mischief told Feryl they were playing a common game between the two of them. "Every woman from my tribe knows how to fight with both wit and blade. Why should you be any different? You're not supposing that Master Kendari will always be there to defend your honor do you?"

The girl blushed, giggling wickedly. "Honor indeed! Don't let my mother hear you say that!"

Relamus began filling the basket with potions and herbs, commenting on the approaching bad weather. "If you can spare Lyra, I could use her help with saving my harvest of dried herbs." He told the sword master. "This humidity does terrible damage to weeks of work."

"That is Lyra to say." Merthisan replied. He was distracted at the unshakable stare the young elf child had to the much older Dunmer. "Perhaps you can find some work for him as well?"

The shopkeeper seemed fully aware of his abashed scrutiny and complied by giving a polite nod in his direction. Feryl looked away nervously. His gaze passed over the numerous items scattered on the high counter, and settled on a familiar light blue substance in a tiny flask. He blinked in surprise, recognizing the substance immediately as Shadowbane. The fluid within the slim glass vial glowed in a vibrant blue and promised of delightful pleasure. Feryl felt his body go flush with memory if the Shadowbane he'd taken before.

"Ah, you don't want that." Rel told him, snatching it off the counter before Feryl could even consider using sticky fingers. "That is not for little boys."

He frowned. _No it was for assassins…_

Merthisan's interest was piqued. "What is it?"

"Shadowbane." Relamus smiled, holding the tiny glass tube between thumb and forefingers, shakings it contents until they bubbled. "Used by some nobles and guardsmen to build immunity to poisons."

Lyra stepped up also suddenly very curious at the wondrous glowing liquid. "Immunity?"

Rel let her take a closer look, "Indeed, to nearly every poison known to man. It's a remarkable potion. The recipe is secret to only a choice few, and its very rare." His tone changed to that of a merchant explaining his wares. "Shadowbane has a narcotic affect when taken, and can be poisonous if too much is used. It has the unfortunate side affect of leaving one sterile." He gave Feryl a chiding cluck of his tongue. "Not something a virile young man such as yourself would want. I only keep it in stock for a few choice customers."

Feryl could barely hear him. He'd been taking Shadowbane for almost six months now. "Sterile?" He asked in a whisper.

"It's a side affect. Doesn't affect anything else though if you take my meaning." The shopkeeper continued with a knowing look to Master Kendari. "But those who take it understand that there would be no children for them in the future. Not many people take it, for obvious reasons."

"Why would anyone take it at all?" Lyra pointed out. "There are resistance potions aren't there?"

Relamus shrugged. "Some like the narcotic effect. Others feel the resistance to poison worth the sacrifice. Potions of resistance are only temporary protection to toxins. Even then, rarely they work a hundred percent, but Shadowbane has a permanent effect after a short time with almost 100 immunity." He gave another shrug, "To most, but not all, poisons."

Feryl stared at the small vial. Having a family was never something he considered before, being he never pondered on a future. Life just was. A family would be unthinkable under Nekros' tutelage. Now in light of this piece of information, he knew the path he had taken was one he couldn't go back. He was, in essence, alone in the world…and now always would be. But then he had always considered his future to be a solitary one.

A hand on his shoulder shook him from his reverie, and Merthisan smiled gently to tell him it was time to go.

Relamus winked again. "Be sure to send Talis down to my shop anytime he wants."

"Will do, Muthsera Hlarys." Merthisan nodded.

By now a light rain had begun to drizzle, causing a flurry of panicked cart merchants to hurry their wares into the shops once more. As the streets grew sparse of people, they could walk at a faster pace to the food bazaar.

Once in the larger area, the only remaining merchants were those with tents. Here one would find foodstuffs from all over the Empire. Meats on skewers roasted over open fire pits, while baskets of exotic fruits and tubers mingled with hawkers of breads and sweets. Feryl had passed through this area before, but at night, the market was empty.

Meanwhile, the swordmaster began bartering for supplies for the school. He bought the usual amount of food, bandages, and supplies for his forge. He handed Lyra some coin to spend, and nudged Feryl to go with her. "I'll keep an eye on you." He promised.

The girl grinned, motioning for him to follow her to a nearby tent. The wondrous smell of something delicious hit him hard, making his mouth water. A woman crouched over a low oven and stove, frying flattened dough on an oiled skillet. Her food stall was simple, but sheltered from the poor weather.

"Two sweetbreads and some cider please." Lyra chimed to her. Her eyes sparkled eagerly to share this treat with him. As they received their order, the girl herded him under a tent flap to sit and enjoy the food.

The sweetbread was dough fried in oil, slathered in butter then sprinkled with sugar. He tasted tentatively, surprised at the thick sweetness filling his mouth. He still couldn't believe they ate like this all the time. He'd never eaten so much with so many different tastes and textures.

"Itsth good, isn'th it?" Lyra grinned, her cheeks stuffed with bread.

The elfling nearly choked with laughter at how silly she looked.

The girl made a dramatic show of chewing and swallowing before she washed everything down with the drink. "You know," she told him when she finished, "You should laugh more. It sounds nice."

He shrugged, caught off guard again by her friendliness. "I never had any reason to laugh before." He admitted.

"Well I for one am very glad you decided to stay." She announced, wiping hair from her cheeks that had managed to work its way from her servant's cap. "You fit right in now."

He looked away, silently disagreeing.

"You don't think so?"

A slight shake of his head was his only answer.

Her head tilted to one side, her smile gone. "Why not?"

Eyes shifted to the ground. "I just…don't."

"That's ridiculous. Of course you do." She told him directly. "Its just still new to you, that's all."

He couldn't help but look out among the sparse crowd in the marketplace and see not a single dark elf among them. Even the shopkeeper, Relamus, seemed completely different from him. But even appearances aside, he felt different from everyone else around him. This was perhaps knowing where one comes from, and where one is going.

_Going_…that was the real problem here. Where am I going? His option to this point had been only what Nekros wanted. Now he had opportunities to do anything he wanted. He could see Master Kendari across the market bartering with an old woman over the price of vegetables. He was a good man, honest, and Feryl liked him, but Renis' words came back to haunt him.

_You don't belong here…._

_You're going to be a problem_…

Feryl couldn't have agreed more. Nekros won't wait forever, the young elf was sure of this. Even if his old master had abandoned him, Feryl knew him as the assassin, knew his face. I'm a liability that will need to be taken care of. Those who saw Nekros' face never lived to tell anyone. He made sure of it.

Feryl's attention scanned the crowds for the hundredth time that day, thinking at any shrouded man could be Nekros waiting for his change. He turned back to the girl beside him, and he wondered if he hadn't put her in danger as well. The thought of her being hurt bothered him greatly.

She smiled when she caught him looking at her. Her hand reached out, covered his in soft warmth. "For what its worth; _I_ think you belong." She told him. Her unshakeable belief caused Feryl's throat to tighten.

He wasn't sure how to react to her, and was glad when a sharp whistle from Kendari beckoning them to head back to the school.

The darkening sky announced the ending of the day, and Feryl was happy to be within the school's thick walls of stone and plaster. Safety, he knew, was an illusion, but the walls felt secure to one accustomed to confinement. He helped with putting away the food, and yawned from the exhaustive day.

"I need to walk Lyra home." Merthisan told him, "Go on to bed early tonight. I'll be back soon."

Feryl was so tired, he didn't even bother removing clothes before curling up amid the blankets.

-------------------

When a hand covered his mouth some time through the night, Feryl only had seconds to realize that too late his master had found him! In the darkness, the shadow of the assassin seemed foreboding and ominous. Donning his black cloak, he appeared as Death itself.

"Be silent!" A low voice growled above him.

Pinned in the bed, Feryl gave up the struggle out of fear and instinct. He felt the moisture off the man's clothing from the rain, could feel the wind blowing in the open window. The hand was unforgiving, with fingers biting into flesh on his cheeks. A low whimper escaped his throat, sounding pitiful when muffled.

"One more sound, Feryl," The voice warned, "And I slit your throat. Understand?"

The elfling nodded, only allowed the slightest of movements. Slowly the hand released him, leaving him trembling in the damp cot. Nekros clothes were soaked from the continuing rain. He sat on the edge, leaning like a dark cloud over him. The familiar scent of leather and cloth mixed with the scent Feryl knew to be his old master.

"Well look at this…" The shadow mocked, a hand touched his hair and clothing. The man leaned closer, sniffed him. "A bath…a haircut…new clothes? You have been a busy boy, haven't you?"

Feryl wondered how long he had slept, if Master Kendari was still in the school. His gaze drew past his nightmare to the closed door, only to dart back to Nekros who chuckled.

"He's sleeping like a baby in his room." The man told him, as if reading his thoughts. "Do you suppose he could get here in time to save you? Eh?" The glint of steel caught the boy's attention when Nekros showed him his dagger. "But you know better, don't you Feryl? I'm quick…efficient. Most likely, Kendari will find your body in the morning, never the wiser. Do you want to scream?"

Feryl quivered, shaking his head as much as was allowed.

"I didn't think so." The point of the dagger wavered in the dim light of the room, "It's been three weeks, Feryl." The razor's edge came dangerously close to the boy's chin, forcing his head up. Now he could see the deadpan expression of the soulless man above him. Dark eyes stared back with no remorse. "I think its time you come home, don't you?"

Trapped in that stare, Feryl tried to fathom why Nekros had abandoned him in the first place, and why he wanted him back now. He swallowed hard, tried to nod again. The thought of returning to a life without sun, without friends, and the deep loneliness he only now realized his life had been caused eyes to grow hot with unshed tears.

"Fond of this place?" Nekros had watched his reaction carefully. The voice was thick with sarcasm. "Who could blame you? Kendari has taken very good care of you. But I am wondering one thing…" The pause served to press the cold steel to his throat. Feryl felt the bite of its edge. "_Did you tell anyone about me?"_

"No!" Feryl whispered quickly. His voice cracked slightly. "No…I told them nothing!"

"That's what I thought." The steel withdrew slightly. "Good boy. Your training, no doubt, has suffered. Three weeks is a long time without my guidance, and I'm not entirely certain you haven't been tainting by Kendari and his ideas. I am, however, a man of opportunity, so we will take this situation to best suit our needs." He pulled away to stand on his feet and look down on the boy. Feryl felt even smaller now. "I don't believe you want to come home yet, do you Feryl?"

The boy flustered for the right answer, terrified the dagger would flash out and kill him. He wasn't sure to agree or not, but Nekros lifted his hand with the knife once again, giving a warning glare to remain silent.

"So this will be a test to your loyalties, as well as your skills." The Assassin answered for him. The dagger danced in his hand. He flipped the deadly weapon between fingers illustrating his experience. The steel whipped in the air, carving a dizzying pattern in the dark. "Your first blooding is at hand. Bring to me that lovely young girl…what is her name?"

Feryl clenched fists, "Lyra?"

"Ah yes….Lyra." Nekros purred with a smile. "Bring her to me tomorrow night, and I will forgive you. You can return home then." His gaze sharpened, much like a predator on its prey. "The rules are simple; no word of this to anyone, bring the girl, and expect to be tested. Do we understand one another?"

The elf boy slowly nodded, too trapped and scared witless to do anything agree. Nekros would have him kill Lyra. The test was a simple one, to prove his loyalty, to prove he hadn't fallen into the trappings of Merthisan's philosophies, and to reclaim his role of apprentice. The alternative was even simpler. To die. Nekros left little choice in the matter. Whatever Nekros chose to kill him would be slow and painful.

Feryl also knew that if he didn't follow orders, Nekros would kill Lyra anyway, perhaps in a more horrible fashion. He might even have designs on Master Kendari and Renis as well.

"Very good." Nekros told him, sheathing the dagger. "Then I will expect you tomorrow night then." He leaned forward, scraping fingers across Feryl's cheek, causing him to draw ever so slightly back. The fingers trailed to his chin, gently applying pressure to force his head up to look him in the eye. Nekros was cold, hard, and ruthless. "I'm sure you will make the right decision. After all, we know what happens if you make the wrong one."

Feryl nodded, swallowing hard.

He watched the Assassin leave through the way he came. Even shutting the window, with a brief smile flashed through the rain-slicked window. The expression cut through him, leaving him feeling lost and alone. Burying beneath the damp blankets, Feryl quietly sobbed himself back to sleep.

_Poor Feryl. Not much choice for him is there? The question is now; will he follow through? Nekros is an interesting character that has taken a life of his own. He's fanatically deranged, but more complex than your basic psycho. He's always plotting, and rarely does something without reason. Renis is just a jerk. (For those wondering if he is Nekros, he is not.) Renis is that element that reminds Feryl 'he doesn't belong', which he feels regardless. _

_I want to leave a note here thanking all who leave reviews. Feedback for a writer is what prompts me to write more! So keep it up! I'm glad to see people enjoy my stuff. It's a hobby I thoroughly enjoy. )_


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Merthisan noticed something was wrong as soon as he entered the small kitchen. Feryl was already awake, dressed, and sitting at the corner table as he had every morning. Hunched over his untouched bowl of porridge, the boy was sullen and bleary eyed. He looked as though he hadn't slept at all. A spoon made idle patterns in the soft gruel, which had long since cooled.

"Are you alright?" The swordsman asked, making a cup of tea for the day ahead.

The boy stiffened as if taken off guard, having been too lost in his own thought to notice his entrance. A quick nod gave an affirmative, and he stuffed food into his mouth. Chewing was less than enthusiastic.

"Are you sure?" Merthisan approached him, and frowned when he noticed the inch long scratch on the boy's chin. He brushed hair aside to get a better look, only to have the boy swat his hand away.

"I said I was fine!" Feryl snapped, this time glaring. Merthisan had never felt the brunt of his temper before and taken aback by the sudden spark.

"How did that happen?"

The boy's face tightened, lips pressed into a firm and stubborn line. "I fell."

With the deep red eyes boring into his own, Merthisan might have believed him, except he recognized the smooth edge of the wound. He knew the difference between injury caused by a fall and those caused by a blade. _Why would he lie to me?_

The smoldering gaze soon dropped, and Feryl slid out of chair to place dishes in the sink. "I'll meet you in the practice room." The boy muttered,

Just as he was moving to go, Lyra arrived with her usual bright smile and rosy cheeks. "Good morning!" Her voice was musical, mostly directed to Feryl. She tugged off her cloak to hurriedly don her apron.

Normally, the elfling would reply with at least a smile, but this morning, he frowned and retreated down the hallway.

"What's wrong with him?" The girl asked.

"I'd like to know." Merthisan replied.

--------------------

Practice proved to be a test of wills rather than learning the art of the sword. Through his own training as a youth, Merthisan learned you discover a great deal about an opponent during a fight. Warriors fought with their hearts, using passion to fuel a strike or parry. Through a fight, an opponent's fears and confidence exposed their nature to reveal more of who they were. Never had the philosophy been truer than now.

Feryl was lashing in caged anger, battering against a blade without care of retaliation. Normally the swordsman would blame sloppiness on the student's part, but he knew better with this boy. Feryl was a natural, almost instinctive with sword fighting. He had grace and balance, with normally a strong instinct for self-preservation. The dropping in defense seemed deliberate, as he wanted to be hurt. The young elf seemed angry, more so at himself by the way Merthisan found his dulled blade striking too often past defenses that should have been guarded. Feryl was letting him beat him.

"That's enough." He finally announced.

The elf was sweating profusely, from overexerting and working too hard. A permanent scowl marred his otherwise determined expression. Hair worked loose from its leather strap keeping most of the length from his eyes. Loose tendrils had pasted across his cheeks. He gasped air from the exertion.

"We've only trained for an hour." The boy protested, taking a bold step towards Merthisan to commence once again with sparring.

"And I've said enough." The stern tone normally deterred upstart behavior, but Feryl took another step. The swordsman watched as the boy seemed to battle within himself.

Years of experience made reading a person's intention as clear as words. A shift in weight, a turn of the head, a look in the eye would reveal volumes to him. Even as the boy started forward, Merthisan lifted his sword to block the sudden onslaught.

Whatever anger Feryl felt was finding its way through the sparring match. Merthisan blocked again, seeing now the boy was frustrated and the anger was not at him. Merthisan wasn't certain how he knew, but he understand that fighting seemed to work things out for the boy. The swordsman pushed back with his sword, letting Feryl block, spin, thrust again before dodging another blow. Each contact was hard, joined with gritted teeth and a wild sparkle in his eye. He was grunting with effort to fight him off.

"What's wrong?" Merthisan asked when Feryl finally disengaged to catch his breath.

The only answer was another series of blows, strong and consecutive. The sword struck, then spun low. Merthisan was deeply disturbed with the ferocity. If he hadn't known better, he would've thought the boy was actually trying to strike a damaging blow. The dulled practice sword would do little harm. Surely, Feryl must know that.

Whatever prompted Feryl's temper had not abated. A fire was in his eyes, something wild and almost violent. The boy, however, was tiring. The sword didn't hit as hard now, and he struggled on shaky legs. Merthisan felt the time was to end this farce. He locked blades, pushing the boy back against the wall, pinning him and his sword to end the fight.

Feryl struggled briefly before finally sagging against the stone. After a few heaving breaths, he dropped his sword.

"Do you mind explaining what that was all about?" The swordmaster demanded. He stepped away, pointedly kicking the practice sword clear from the boy.

Feryl caught his breath, wiped sweat off his brow. His gaze flickered towards movement in the doorway. Renis had watched the confrontation, and now stood with an unblinking stare. Something seemed passed between them. Now Merthisan began to wonder more about his assistant, who had voiced his concerns with the dark elf staying in the school. What had transpired the other day, with the Khajiits and the elf boy?

Merthisan had hoped for an answer, wanting to help the boy through whatever he was going through. Just as he seemed ready to reply, the boy pushed off the wall and strode out of the practice room. When he brushed past Renis, he leaned towards the teacher to shove a shoulder against him, pushing him out of the way.

"What's gotten into him?" Renis snapped after the elf.

"He just needs time." Merthisan told him. He hoped his words rang with some truth. For now, the boy needed time to himself. He'd speak to him later.

---------------

"Where is Feryl?" Lyra asked herself when the elfling didn't meet her in the kitchen as he always had since his arrival. After he showered, he'd often seek her out to do the necessary chores around the school. She'd already finished dishes and laundry, with still no sign of Feryl anywhere to be found.

Curious to what happened, she discovered him in the bathing room. He should've long since left. Instead, the young elf stood in one of the shower stall. Hands splayed against tiles, propping him upright as he bowed his head. Water splashed over his head, down shoulders, down the length of his lean frame. He'd gained weight since his first arrival. Bones didn't jut out as they had before, and toning defined new muscle from the daily sparring matches. She could see the edges of manhood about him, indicating he was closer to her age of thirteen than she had guessed, perhaps older.

The light from the single lamp in the room made his skin appear almost black, as if carved from stone. He was motionless beneath the stream of water. Only when the girl approached, she realized Feryl was shivering. Breath was trembling in short gasps, and closer still, she found he had turned on only the cold. Most of the water would be straight from the cistern built underground, fed from a freshwater spring.

The icy water drenched him, pasting hair against his face. Streams of droplets cascaded over his face, leaving gooseflesh. Eyes closed, and lips trembled from the bitter cold.

"Feryl?"

The boy didn't seem to hear.

She grabbed up a towel, and spoke his name louder. This time, his head lifted, then turned slightly in her direction.

"What do you want?" The voice had changed, almost stuttering from the cold. The tone was irrevocably hard and unmoved by her presence.

Master Kendari had told her of the sparring practice, and Lyra couldn't help but bristle at his tone now. Anger flared at the thought he'd been in here, freezing all this time. "Get out of the shower." She told him firmly. "What's wrong with you?"

He didn't reply, nor did he respond when she turned the water off with the facet next to him. The icy cold water splashed against her apron, causing her to gasp. All the boy did was remain as he was, looking as though he'd been dumped in the river, and left to drown.

She wrapped the towel around him, only then having him pull away from her. Or try to. He couldn't, being too cold and chilled. Determined, the girl grabbed another towel, adding that to swaddle him in the cloth.

He slumped, leaning back against the tiles. Eyes closed against her, shutting her out when she patted him dry. Rubbing vigorously, she hoped to get circulation back into his arms and hands.

"Why, Feryl?" She asked him. Fear and worry was thick in her heart.

"Cold." He whispered, teeth chattered. "I needed the cold."

"But why?"

"To …feel numb."

"Numb...?" She wasn't certain she understood what he said. No matter, she would set him back to right. "C'mon, let's get you dried off and something warm in you."

"I'm …sorry." He mumbled.

"For what?"

He never answered her. At least he let her dry him enough to help him dress.

"What happened?" Lyra asked, yanking his shirt on over his head. He moved slowly, but at least he moved. "Why are you acting like this?"

She wasn't sure if he would respond. When he spoke, he sounded far away as if the water had done what he wanted, dulling whatever feelings he had. He looked so very tired.

"Bad dreams." Feryl told her.

"Of what?" She watched dark emotion flitter across his eyes before he turned and said nothing. What had that master of his done to him to cause such turmoil? The question sparked anger again, this time to the man that had hurt him. What sort of monster was this that could affect the boy in his dreams?

"Get up to bed. I'll warm up some soup for you."

"Not hungry." He muttered.

He hadn't eaten except for the few bites of cold porridge that morning. "Just get up to bed." Lyra pushed him in the general direction and he thankfully went. Later she checked on him, finding the familiar pile of boy and blanket on his bed, she realized how tired he was. He was curled up against the wall, arms and legs hugging blankets and the pillow covering his head. Not having the heart to wake him up, she left the soup by his bed and shut the door.

-----------------

Feryl woke with a start. Confused to time and place, he rubbed his face to wakefulness and sat up on the narrow cot. He brushed hair from his face, assessed the bone weary tiredness he felt. By the darkness at the curtained windows, the day was drawing to a close. He'd slept a few hours, and missed supper by the hollow feel of his stomach.

The tray beside his bed told him of Lyra's concern. Soup was cold but would suffice, and the bread gone stale. He didn't care. He chewed and swallowed, not tasting anything.

Memories of the morning sparring and Lyra finding him in the shower made him grimace in self-disgust. He didn't know why he did it. Slept hadn't found him all night, as fear and anger battled deep within him. The cold shower meant to deaden the pain he felt. At first, the cold droplets were soothing, and he welcomed the chill to flesh gone hot from the exertion of sparring. As he remembered each strike against the swordsman that wanted only to help, Feryl found biting cold was punishment enough for an ungrateful elf boy who was now meant to kill those who cared for.

_Your first blooding is at hand. Bring the girl, and prepare to be tested. _

The food in his mouth suddenly tasted as paste. He swallowed hard, pushing away the remainder and felt sick.

_He wants me to kill her._ That was the only answer to Nekros' demand. Of course Lyra must die. The assassin must have guessed his feeling for her, and what better method to prove his loyalty than to destroy someone he'd grown fond of? No doubt, Nekros will want him to finish Merthisan and Renis as well, though he must know I might not be able to take on a master swordsman, or his apprentice.

No…Nekros would take care of them in due time. Lyra was the best and only choice for his blooding.

He felt pain in the sting of fingernails cut into palms when he clenched his fists. _If I don't kill her, he will._ Memories flashed like a razor's edge of Nekros' victims. Feryl witnessed some of the murders, their panic and horror was drawn out as much as their pain. Nekros enjoyed such reaction from his victims. He drank in their fear. Torture was a drug to him. And he would do the same to Lyra.

Wouldn't it then be a kindness to kill her quickly than have to face that monster? Feryl tried to imagined if could do this, tried to imagine a blade taking her life. The vision was too much to bear as hot tears stained his cheeks.

_But if I don't, she will die anyway…_. Feryl wiped his cheeks, forcing his fear back. I could tell Merthisan. He would know what to do. He could protect her-

But for how long?

And Nekros will kill me too.

The boy slowly sucked in another breath, calmed the fears that threatened to choke him once more. And if I did this thing for him, if I kill Lyra….I go back to an empty, dark world again. Death didn't seem so bad to him then. Yet, even his death wouldn't stop Nekros from having his revenge. He'd kill them all just out of spite.

But I can't do it… 

Feryl forced himself to his feet. Nekros wanted her tonight, which meant he'd have to find some way to get her to the apartment across town. She would trust me, he thought uneasily. All I have to do is ask her, and she would follow wherever I asked. And he would have to do this evening.

Taking slow steps towards the kitchen, the boy found the task ever more difficult as he remembered how easily he grew accustomed to the girl. He liked her laugh, and her efforts to make him do the same. He found he even enjoyed her chatter, and eagerness to teach him. Any question he had, she'd give him an answer, even if it was "I don't know". She doesn't deserve this. She didn't anything wrong.

_But she did. She liked me._

For that, Nekros will have her pay dearly. The thought came to him hard, but Feryl knew this was the truth. Nekros would never allow him to have anyone in his life. He killed a cat once Feryl had found, explaining they could not keep pets. Too much trouble, was his excuse, though the creature had been a stray. Why hadn't he just let it go back out into the world?

_Because I wanted the cat_, Feryl thought.

_Bastard_.

Fists clenched again until knuckles popped. Feryl let his rage kindle beneath his apprehension. Justified anger burned away years of fears, cleared away doubts with each step-

Voices from the practice room interrupted his inner dialogue.

"Lyra's gone."

Feryl felt as though his heart would stop.

Renis was standing before Merthisan, nursing a broken arm and bloodied face. "I…don't know what happened." He was babbling. "I was walking her home, and this man came out from nowhere and attacked us."

The swordmaster was dabbing salve on bleeding wounds. "What did he look like? Where did he go?"

"He took her, Merthisan." Renis' voice cracked in fear. "He took Lyra."

Merthisan looked grim. "Focus, Renis. By the Blessed Nine, focus! Tell me what he looked like! Where did he take her?"

Feryl hovered to the door, already knowing the answer.

"Tall…dark…He was shrouded in all black." Renis was trying to remember but the boy knew Nekros was a master of hiding his features. "Big man…but fast. After I fell, I heard her scream. He took her up towards the wharf-"

The boy frowned, caught between wanting to tell Merthisan, and concerned that things would be made worse. He won't be able to save her, he thought. She could already be dead- No, a dark calm settled over the young elf. _He's waiting for me. She's still alive._

That decided him. He wouldn't tell. If he did, if anyone but him showed up, Nekros would kill her.

"Feryl-" Merthisan's voice cut into him sharply, as the man motioned him to tend to the other man. "He needs a healer. I'm going after Lyra, and will need to alert the guards. Stay here." The salve and a handful of bandages were thrust into his arms. "Lock the doors."

As he watched the swordmaster belt his long blade to his hip, Feryl knew he was going to be heading the wrong way. The wharf led in the opposite direction, just as Nekros had wanted it.

"Stay here." The swordsman told him gently. His focus on finding the girl made blue eyes turn to steel. All Feryl could do is nod.

When he was gone, he found Renis still babbling. "He was so fast…barely had time to block. How could anyone move that fast?…"

Feryl set the jar of healing salve on a table, and slipped out of the school without his knowing. Renis' pride was hurt more than his body, and the elf had little care for the man who hadn't protected Lyra as he should have.

Instead of heading back to the bleak apartment with dread, Feryl felt his heart race in anticipation for a fight. _Nekros will die_. The thought rang in his head like a clamor. _Nekros must die._ That was the only choice left to him. He refused to go back to that lightless existence again. _I'll die first, even by my own hand!_

The chances of saving Lyra were slim, his own survival was unlikely, but by the graces of luck and all things good, Feryl was going to put an end to that man's wretched life! With grim determination, he bounded up the narrow walls of an ally to reach the rooftops. From here he moved easily and with a speed that was so close to flying, he sprang over the narrow spaces between buildings, leapt over gables of home and merchant's shop, finding the path to Nekros undeterred.

Senses sharpened as he moved, adrenaline pumping through his body that had gained strength from weeks' with master Kendari. Anger focused his mind, fears abated. _If ever a time to face Nekros, it would be this night!_

_I'm not coming back_, he realized. A strange calm settled over the boy even as he ran across slated rooftops. Tonight, Feryl dies, but it will be a good death, a worthwhile death. More importantly, if my death ends Nekros' terror, then this is all worth it.

Accepting this fate, Feryl ran on.

_We're reaching the crux of the story now. The plot thickens, and Feryl has accepted what needs to be done. This chapter illustrates the inner turmoil Feryl holds inside of himself. Apparently, Nekros is none too sure of his apprentice bringing the girl to him, so he takes matter in his own hands. Its also another trick he likes to use to keep the boy guessing. _

_Thanks for the reviews! ) _


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Lyra cowered against the wall with wrists bound behind her. The harsh rope chafed at tender skin. Placed in the corner of a dingy room, she tried to determine where she must be, why she'd been taken here. Plaster was falling off walls; the tiles on the floor were broken. She guessed the apartment must be one of the run down buildings in the poorer end of the city. By the eerie quiet, she also sensed they were the only tenants in the building.

The rooms were dark and shadowed. Windows were shuttered against any light, though she could tell night had already fallen. The décor was stark, with a scattering of bottles and broken plates. The gloom of the place was closing in around her. The grime seemed to infect her very pores.

This place…could only be what was once Feryl's home. The thought of him living in such a place galled her. Things about the elf boy suddenly came to light; his fascination with the sun, his ignorance of the world around him. Her heart did a painful roll at the thought.

She was not a stupid girl. Once she'd been captured and taken to this awful place, she knew who this man was, and her purpose for being here. Here was Feryl's master. He was a cruel, imposing man, wearing black and dark brown clothing. For a thief, he was an intimidating man.

The lines of his face were sharp and clear, the angle of his cheek to jaw was sublime. Hair was a bit unkempt, with tendrils falling over deep brown eyes. However, something was missing from those dark eyes. He had no soul, no pity. There was something very inhuman about him. One might not even look twice at him save for the coldness he donned like a shroud.

Crying seemed useless at this point. The effort serving only to cause her to sniffle miserably and soak the cloth gag that man had put in her mouth. He was merciless, smiling when she begged, and laughed when she finally sobbed in utter hopelessness.

"Don't fret so, child." The man chided her with pretended gentleness. "Your misery will end soon. I have all the confidence in the world that Feryl will come to rescue you."

Lyra didn't believe him. There was no doubt in her mind he was not letting her live through the night. In addition, how could he so certain the boy would free her? Wouldn't Feryl rally Master Kendari and others to come find her? Lyra expected the master swordsman to arrive just in time with a hoard of city guard to her rescue.

The man crouched too close, admiring, she assumed, her face long enough before wiping her face of tears. "Such a pretty little thing." He said, tugging off the gag. She could see him more clearly due to close proximity, and made out the shape of brow over eyes, the thin lips on his drawn mouth. The man paused before reaching up to also pull off the servant's cap. "I can see why he likes you."

"Who?"

"Don't play stupid with me, girl. You know who."

Ah yes, Feryl. She cringed as he began releasing her hair to tumble down past shoulders. Rarely could she wear hair loose, being the length always got in the way, but men seemed to like the strawberry blond color and silken texture. That was a reason she supposed she also bound it under the cap, to avoid the looks of men until she came of age.

No such safety here, she thought. This man made no hiding the fact he admired her, but the look was something of that one might find at a marketplace when buying a new horse. He never touched her in any other way. Whatever fears she had of his intention of harming her faded when he moved away, not giving her a second thought.

"What if he doesn't come?" She asked him in a shaky voice. Lyra knew the answer already. Her life was forfeit. Such a pitiless man could not let her live.

"Feryl will come." The man took a seat at the small table in the kitchen, kicking boots up on the wobbly furniture and prepared to wait. "I know him. I know how he thinks. I know his wants." The dark eyes sparkled in glee. "You might say I know his very soul."

Anger sparked. Here was the monster that left Feryl skittish and nervous about everything around him. He'd beaten the boy enough to break bones. He spoke as if he were fond of the elfling, and not a cruel monster that bullied young children.

Her captor snorted a light laugh at her reaction. "You don't think so?"

"No, I do not."

"You think you know him better than I?" He challenged her.

"I know he is a good person." She replied defiantly. "That's all I need to know."

"Typical." A reply spat in sudden disgust and distain. "And Ignorant. Just what I expect from a pretty little thing from you. All you see if is the boy. You cannot possibly imagine the sharp mind, the trained skills, and that certain something that makes him exceptional."

He was correct to an extent. Lyra sensed there was something extraordinary about Feryl but had no words to explain what she felt when she was with him. This was more than infatuation, she knew. Boys fawned over her, men flirted with her, her own attraction to Feryl was undeniable, but there was still something else about the dark elf that went deeper. He was meant to do great things, she thought to herself.

"Ah but maybe you can see it after all, eh?" The man tilted his head as he had been watching her carefully. His scrutiny unnerved her. Here was a man adept at seeing subtle body language and facial expression. Could he also read minds? The soulless gaze bore into her own. "Drawn to him like a moth to a flame. But then, aren't we all?"

Her face pinched into a frown, not understanding his meaning at first. The edges of unsettlement nipped at her sense of right. This man was infatuated with Feryl.

"He didn't tell you about me." The man stated with confidence. "In fact, Feryl never told you a thing about his life here."

Her silence was answer enough. He brushed his hair from his eyes, completely at ease. "You're a fortunate girl, for tonight you will know more than anyone else alive-" He suddenly paused as if hearing something, and the smile widened. "I told you he would come." The man paused, nodding to himself. "And he's come alone."

Lyra could hear the halted footsteps coming up the stairs beyond the door. Her heart nearly stopped when the door opened and the dark elf entered. He wore only the practice clothes of simple tunic and breeches, had no weapons, and had come alone just like the man had said. She had hoped he'd be relieved or smile reassuringly. He gave her nothing. The pensive look he wore slowly turned into a mask she couldn't read. His manner was oddly reminiscent of his master's.

Nekros approached, and immediately Feryl stiffened. Eyes dropped to the floor in submission, as his master circled him. Long black hair had long since worked free of its binding, now fell forward very much like when she first saw him. The same tense scowl settled on his face, now pinched in tension.

"Impressive, isn't he?" Her captor purred, cupping Feryl's chin to force his head up, pulling the curtain of hair to clear his face. The dark elf slowly closed his eyes, enduring the attention. "I had doubts you would bring the girl, so I brought her myself."

Lyra frowned. Her fear was so overwhelming she felt ill. _Feryl_ was supposed to bring her? He didn't seem surprised, and guilt was thick in the look he gave her. No wonder he had acted strangely today.

The way the man moved around the boy was much like a predator. But Feryl's reaction to this was also unsettling. He was accustomed to this behavior, in fact, expected it. Doubts screamed at her, and the girl wondered if her faith had been misguided. Had she been tricked by the boy? Had his behavior been an act?

"Feryl hasn't told you, has he?" The man accused, releasing his hold of the boy to circle him. When he moved behind, he leaned very close to the boy's ear. Feryl's eyes opened to focus again on her, and Lyra felt a tug of sympathy. She sensed it hadn't been an act. "You haven't told her who I am, did you, Feryl?"

"No." Feryl answered dully. He lowered his chin, only to have it yanked back up. Nekros had a first full of his hair, forcing him to look at his 'friend' now bound and gagged on the floor. His voice tightened. "I've told no one."

"Very good." The man murmured, "Tell her now."

She saw Feryl swallow hard, a pink tongue flickered out across dry lips. "He is Nekros." He told her. The statement was abrupt and hit her like a hammer.

Lyra shivered, wanting desperately to crawl into the wall behind her. "No…" She whispered, questioning his words. _Nekros…? His master was Nekros! _That would mean…Her mind worked furiously to grasp this information. Feryl was an assassin's apprentice all this time! He was no mere thief! She wondered if the boy had ever killed anyone, if he had helped this monster in his work. Somehow, she didn't think so, and yet he stood in close proximity. He obviously knew the monster.

Nekros…The very word struck terror, brought visions of gore and memories of hushed stories to frighten little children. No one escapes. He's faceless. Nekros is brutal and eats souls. Many never considered him human but something invoked from Oblivion. Even he appeared human now, Lyra wondered if this was some sort of guise.

Right now, Nekros was very pleased by her reaction to this news. "Are you so certain now he is a good person?" The man asked her. Even Feryl watched her now, seeing her respond to the news. "See Feryl? She's wondering what crimes you've committed, whose blood you've spilt. She doubts you now. So quickly friendship fades with the crime of association."

The red gaze fell back to the floor in defeat. He looked distressed at her reaction, but still said nothing. He just stood there.

Nekros sighed softly, almost as if in contentment. He was very pleased with having his apprentice back in his clutches once more. He particularly enjoyed the drama.

"This is a special day." He announced, and Lyra couldn't tell if his statement was as directed to her or Feryl. The man moved to the table where several items had been laid out, one of which was a slender dagger. "This night, Feryl becomes a man."

Lyra cringed, turning to Feryl as to why she was suddenly frightened. He was immobile, as if anticipating this all along. They both watched the assassin move with smooth grace over the girl. She gave a small cry when he forced her back to her feet. The grip on her arm was bruising, belying his casual manner as he maneuvered her against the next wall. Her eyes never left the weapon in his hand.

"You see, my dear." He told her gently, the dagger's point casually tapped against her chest. "Every apprentice must endure a test of skill, but also his heart. I fear his time spent with you has polluted my efforts, but hopefully not beyond redemption." The man smiled like a cat that just caught a bird. "Tonight is his first blooding, and a test of his soul. You see, the first step to becoming an assassin is of course to kill without remorse." He cast a strange look at the boy who stood stoic and unmoving. "Some might say that matters little to the victim, and in truth, it matter little even for the assassin, just as long as he can accomplish the deed."

The words, Lyra felt, were being directed at Feryl, and by the lost hopeless spark in his eye, he knew that as well.

"For an assassin," Nekros continued, firmly placing her against the wall to wait. "The first blooding is special. You can't forget your first kill. The moment marks your change into manhood, and remains with you forever."

Lyra glanced to Feryl hoping he'd do something, anything to stop the man from talking. She knew where this was leading to. _No_, she silently pleaded to him, _you wouldn't ..?_

The dark elf was motionless, a gray statue in the grim center of the room as he seemed to wait. His face was a mask, showing nothing in the way of pity or sorrow. Had she been wrong about him, all this time? Was her want of friendship so terribly misplaced? Her eyes seemed to tell her that yes, Feryl was the cold-hearted monster as his master was, but deep down, she knew that was wrong. But how? His friendship could be...must be all a lie.

"Feryl." Nekros said sharply, breaking the eerie stillness. "Its time to prove yourself worthy." He extended the dagger hilt first to the boy.

Feryl's red eyes stared at the delicate knife, then back to his master.

_Refuse_…Lyra prayed, _tell him no…_

She watched in horror as slender fingers clasped the hilt.

"Feryl…please." Tears began to stream down her face. Nekros stepped away to give him room, and she considered running. With arms bound behind her, she doubted she'd get far, and she had nowhere to go. Knees shook in renewed terror and the girl cringed as the boy she had hoped to call friend approached to stand before her.

With Nekros unblinking stare upon them, she sucked back sobs to face death bravely. Part of her desperately wanted to plead and beg, but pride held the words back. _If he's going to kill me, I'll give him no satisfaction._ Tears, however, continued to fall.

She closed her eyes, holding her breath. To her surprise, a slight touch brushed against her cheek. Lyra opened her eyes to see him staring at her oddly, wiping tears off her face.

I'm sorry… 

He didn't have to say the words; she saw the apology in his softened gaze. But so what if he held regret to this deed? Only his killing her was what mattered. She swallowed hard, felt him lean forward, and startled, found him pressing lips against hers.

She jerked at the touch, surprised and indignant he'd dare kiss her before murdering in cold blood. Where once she had imagined his affection with a nervous flutter, now the contact seemed only to mock her. She clamped her mouth shut, heard her muffled protest. The blade by now was at her back, the point ready to slide easily into flesh. Lyra squirmed against him.

His other hand cupped her chin, gentle at first but more insistent when she tried to turn away. Terror mounted at his unspoken demand for her to kiss him. Feryl dared to brush a tongue against her teeth. The lips were remarkably gentle, goading, teasing her now.

Too frightened and knowing of death so imminent, she finally relented. A noise bubbled up from her throat only to as a sound pathetic whimper by his lips and tongue. A strange taste filled her mouth, sweet like honey. Slowly she realized he was pushing something, some substance into her mouth. Struggling the hand released his chin, she felt the effects of the poison almost immediately as legs gave out.

His arm snaked around and held her up as the rest of her body began to fail her. A sharp prick to her side told her the knife had found its target, and oddly, she thought there would be more pain than this. Sucking in air, she meant to scream, only to find she no longer had the strength for it.

Drifting into unconsciousness, she felt one last kiss, this time gentle as if telling her goodbye. Blackness engulfed her.

------------------

The last gasp of air was audible in the small apartment, and Feryl finally let the body slump to the floor. He still gripped the bloody dagger in his hand, feeling the warm sticky fluid stain his fingers.

The girl was motionless, skin was translucent white and mouth red with blood. She'd bitten him, which he had expected when she realized he was going to kill her. He could feel her terror as she realized he used poison, could now _taste_ her fear. Tongue and throat felt numb from the poison he'd used, but he was resistant to such things. Wiping his own mouth with the back of his hand, his tongue rolled the metallic flavor of the wounded lip. More blood stained her dress.

Clapping sounded behind him. Nekros was beaming. "By the Nine Divines, Feryl, you never cease to amaze me." He gasped, "Never have I seen such a dramatic death…"

The assassin moved to check for a pulse at her throat and found none. He lightly trailed fingers along her pretty face. Blue eyes that had once sparkled, now glazed over and staring into nothingness. Brushing aside the curtain of strawberry blond, he closed lids. Now she appeared as if only sleeping.

Taking the blade from Feryl's hand, Nekros grinned. "Welcome home. You've excelled where I thought you'd only pass marginally. I'm impressed."

Feryl remained expressionless, looking at the body at his feet. Strangely, the boy didn't even shed a tear. Nekros refrained from smiling further however, just in case the boy was on the edge of sanity. Death of a loved one could do that to you, he'd heard. He paused considering his apprentice, only now seeing how unmoving he'd become.

Nekros hadn't expected the boy to carry through in bringing the girl. He even thought the task was perhaps a bit much to ask of him. Taking the girl was forcing his hand, and the assassin was going to kill her in front of him. Another test, he thought grimly, to teach the boy that friends had no place in his life. Much to his surprise, however, the boy seemed ready to accept the mantle of apprentice once again.

"Better you than me." The assassin murmured to the boy. This caught his attention, causing eyes of deep wine to flicker up to his face. They locked stares and Feryl realized the man confirmed his suspicions. Nekros was going to kill her anyway, and horribly. The death he'd given her was more humane by far.

Even though Feryl wanted to think the words were to provide some form of solace to the deed, Nekros waved his hand to the body. "Dump her in the river." He stated coldly, "Then return here quickly. We have to discuss how to rid ourselves of Master Kendari."

Nodding, Feryl wrapped her body in her cloak. He had to carry her over his shoulder in order to handle the weight, but the river was a short distance. He had to move quickly. Time was essential to his plan. Once outside, he kept to the shadowy back streets to make his way towards the wharf. To anyone who might see him, he was simply carrying a heavy parcel or perhaps an old rug. This late at night, however, Feryl doubted anyone would notice at all.

He entered the enclosed courtyard of a familiar tavern known as the Dancing Fish. They kept kegs in the back, often refilling the pitchers, but did so on a regular basis. People came and went all the time. Here, Feryl had often enjoyed just watching people, and knew there was a constant stream of passersby.

Gently laying the girl near the barrels of ale, Feryl crouched over her still form, unwrapping her until he could see her face. He waited a few moments, and smiled at the sound of an indrawn breath. The Inera sap he used worked quickly, painlessly, and in small doses, could render a victim into a death-like sleep. He silently thanked the time spent on learning of poisons.

The boy took notice of blood still seeping through the cloak, and knew she'd need help soon. He hadn't struck anything vital, knowing human anatomy well enough to avoid a death strike, but she was still losing blood.

Feryl backed off, running by the door to slam a fist against the wood. Just as the door opened, he was already gone into the shadows.

"What's that? Who's there?" A burly man shouted. The tavern keeper hesitated upon seeing the huddle of cloak and girl near one of his kegs, and approached with uncertainty. "Ho there…oh by the gods…" He knelt over Lyra, lifting her into his arms. "Adrari, fetch a healer! Quickly!"

Feryl stood atop a low roof, and made sure the girl was carried into safety. "Good-bye Lyra…" He murmured softly. Turning, he took to the rooftops to return to Nekros and finish what he started.

_This chapter is a bit shorter than the others, but had enough action to merit the length I think. Seems Feryl's study of poison pays off. Tricking his master into thinking Lyra is dead is one thing though, doing the monster in is quick another!_


	11. Chapter 11

Just a note of warning that this chapter contains a bit more violence than usual, as well as implied abuse.

Chapter 11

Feryl returned to the apartment as soon as he could to not arise suspicions. Nekros knew exactly the time it would take to dump a body into the river and return back home. The young elf had to even assist from time to time to carry bodies, so he knew the timing as well. He tried not to think of that. Time was crucial. Nekros' death would have to do this night, before he learned that Lyra was still alive.

Thoughts were dark with plots as how to strike Nekros. A full attack was pointless. Nekros was fast, strong, and the boy knew he'd be incapable of killing him fast enough before being killed himself. Making his death seem as an accident also was unlikely.

But trained in the very arts of an assassin, Feryl considered poison might be the best method. That was the only means to which he could close enough to his master, perhaps weaken him enough to kill him and finish his reign of terror.

What he hadn't expected upon his return was to hear voices in the apartment above. Nekros never had visitors, and he certainly had no friends or allies. The voices did not seem ridden in fear. Halting on the landing of the building, Feryl looked up the stairway to listen intently, curious who would be talking to his master. He could hear Nekros, but there was someone else, someone…who was too familiar.

"Where is the girl?" A voice demanded. Feryl was shocked. _Renis…?_ _Had he followed me in hopes of saving her? _His first thought was the man took it upon himself to make a rescue attempt. As he took the steps one by one, he listened with growing disgust. "You told me she would not be harmed."

Nekros' chuckle was ominous. "I said _I_ wouldn't hurt her, not that she wouldn't come to harm."

The young elf bristled at the implication. Feryl approached the apartment to find the man still hearing a sling of a broken arm, still wounded by the supposed attack. The man had no weapon in his hand. Words and the fact he showed no fear, told Feryl knew Nekros, but not as the assassin.

"I did everything you told me to." The Imperial was saying. "I was bringing her to you! Why attack me, and what did you do to her?" The man spoke with growing fear in his voice, or perhaps panic.

"Feryl is taking good care of her." Came a flippant reply.

"You promised me to get rid of him!"

"And you _are_ rid of him." Nekros informed him. "He won't haunt the school anymore. Your Master Kendari will see nothing more of him."

Renis' face twisted in frustrated rage. "Lyra was not part of the plan-"

"No, no she wasn't" Nekros agreed calmly, nodding slowly. "But plans change and we must change to suit them." The assassin was holding back the smug grin when he caught sight of Feryl at the door. "Don't hover in the shadows boy…. come in."

Feryl was livid. He glared openly at Renis, seeing the man who had started this. He must have told Nekros of the Manos Blade, perhaps been part of the whole thing from the start! To think he was willing to trade Lyra just to be rid of what he considered a worthless dark elf thief..! Guilt and hate seethed.

Renis glared back, but his eyes wandered to the open doorway, expecting to find Lyra with him. The damned fool still didn't understand did he? Who did he think he was dealing with?

"Where is she?" Renis asked him.

"Did you take care of the girl?" Nekros asked, sitting back in his chair.

Feryl felt rage smolder. Those bold words Renis had spoken to him the other day was from confidence spawned from this deal with Nekros! The bastard had been in league with him all this time-"Yes, master."

The man before him was beginning to understand. He looked back at Nekros , then returned the hardened gaze back to Feryl. "What have you done?"

"I did as my master bade." He replied coldly.

Now fear began nipping at the man's edged realization. His attention returned to Nekros. "And what was that?"

To this Nekros smiled wickedly, toying with the slender blade that had 'killed' Lyra. The steel was still marred in blood. Apparently, the man had taken no notice of this little fact. "Why Renis, he did what any apprentice does with his first blooding."

"Blooding?" The man paled considerably, looking ghastly in the dim light of the apartment. "Wh-what do you mean?"

"You don't know who he is, do you?" Feryl challenged, knowing he was speaking out of turn, but his 'master' seemed to delight in his moment of gloating. "Did all you see in me as a mere thief? Did you only see a petty street thug to bully?" He stepped forward, almost shaking in anger now. His arm flailed towards Nekros. "Do you see him as some common thug? My master is _Nekros_…" The words were almost a growl now; teeth bared in barely constrained temper. He let the words sink into the man's brain, enjoying the growing shock and caged terror the man expressed with widened eyes and mouth agape. "Nekros… assassin….Butcher and death bringer…."

Renis stepped back, glancing now to Nekros and back to him as if he expected a joke. Two pair of eyes staring into him without mirth, his uneasy stance soon changed to one ready to take flight. "Nekros?" His voice was a hoarse whisper, obviously thick with fear.

"Oh come now Renis…" The assassin chided. He looked as though he was about to burst into laughter. "Did you really think me some common thug? That hurts my feelings."

"What did you do to Lyra?" His eyes pleaded with Feryl to tell him she was all right, that he had no hand in any harm come to her.

"My first blooding." The boy spat. Disgust mixed with an odd sensation of mastery. He _liked_ the reaction the name of Nekros had on the man. Now Renis knew that the 'petty thief' was by far more dangerous than he could've anticipated.

"No…" His voice hardened. Renis' hand drifted to his sword at his hip. "You…you're just a boy-"

Feryl bristled, but stayed silent this time. Nekros had already started to move behind him, and the elfling knew that no one lived to tell what Nekros looked like, let alone where he lived. As arm wrapped in cloth closed in around his throat, preventing any hope of escape. The sharpened edge of a dagger slid across his throat in one fluid swipe.

"Ah but he is so much more than a mere boy!" Nekros murmured in his ear. The cloth caught most of the blood, but some of the warm crimson splattered forward onto Feryl. He barely blinked.

Renis' eyes bulged as blood sprayed from the gaping wound. No longer able to lift his sword, death came quickly but not instantaneously. White rimmed eyes stared at Feryl as his mouth opened to scream. Only a hideous gargle of red crimson emitted any sound at all.

It wasn't the first kill Feryl had witnessed. He could maintain a composed, unemotional façade as he watched in schooled indifference of the man's demise. When the body fell with a thump, Nekros wiped the knife against the dead man's tunic.

"Wash up." His master ordered, "I'll clean up this mess."

Moving without thought or feeling, he did as ordered. Nekros' rolled the body into the dead man's cloak, much as Feryl had done with Lyra. Like the others, the body would join the others in the river, another carcass for the city guards to question who the killer was.

The sound of heavy footsteps faded down the stairs, leaving Feryl alone in the apartment. Washing off the blood was painstakingly slow, and Feryl wondered if he ever remove the smell off his skin. He had only a washbasin, with the water a dulled red after he cleaned up.

Thoughts of Nekros' end also rode clear in his thoughts. Hands shook nervously as he dropped the wet cloth to find the stash of poisons Nekros kept in a cupboard. Eyes darted across the assorted bottles, finding the tiny vial for his purpose. Small, one might assume the clear viscous liquid within was nothing but harmless sap.

Latoli essence was deadly. Only a few drops were needed. Feryl had extensive knowledge of all manner of toxic substances, and this one was one of the few that had no taste, texture or color. There was also no side effect until it was too late for the victim. Death often started with cramps, uncontrollable muscle control, and blood at the mouth.

_How to get him to take it….?_

Feryl was breathing hard, from fear and tension. Time was running out. He stared at the small number of cups in the cupboards, wondering how in the world would he pick the right one? Blowing a low sigh to settled his determination, the boy began placing a drop within each and every cup. There would be no mistaking now. Briefly the thought flittered through his mind of the risk he was taking. Surely, he'd be also drinking from these same cups.

It no longer matters, he thought to himself, finishing the deadly task. He placed only a drop at the bottom of each cup, knowing that anything less of a close inspection, Nekros would never even notice.

When the heavy footsteps came up the stairs, Feryl hurried with replacing the poison vial and returning to washing off the blood. He was shirtless, hair still dripping water when Nekros entered the apartment.

"That's done." Nekros muttered as he began to strip off his clothes that had been marred by Renis' blood. "Kendari will be next, but not tonight."

Feryl nodded absently, not revealing intention or feeling. The evening would soon turn to day, and Nekros never killed during the day. The boy rinsed with the dirty water, used a towel that scratched against his skin to dry off. He tensed when his master approached, feeling arms encircle around him in a solid embrace. The contact of skin against skin took him off guard. Breath nearly stopped when he felt the man press his chin against his shoulder.

"I missed you." The assassin spoke softly, "I'm glad you made the right choice." The right choice being in returning to him, and in following order by killing Lyra.

"Where else was I to go?" Feryl replied slowly. Part of him felt the sting of truth to his words. If nothing else he'd learned from the past few weeks, is that he didn't belong in the school.

"I have something for you." Nekros had something in the palm of his hand, only now revealing a tiny vial of light blue liquid that glowed enticingly. "Something you need…?"

The boy tensed, hearing more than the words now. _He knows…_

Jerking instinctively, Feryl felt the man arms tense to hold him tight. "Did you honestly think I wouldn't notice your taking Shadowbane?" The voice was so calm considering Nekros confessed he knew the boy stole from him.

Feryl swallowed against the sudden panic rising up his throat. "I…don't-"

"Shhhh." Nekros whispered now, turning the boy to face him. He stood tall enough to where Feryl felt small and helpless. The top of his head barely met the man's chin. When Nekros cupped his jaw, forcing his head up, Feryl nearly trembled with the pitiless eyes staring down at him. "Its alright…"

With one hand, the assassin used a dexterous thumb to flip the tiny cork off the vial. It opened with a slight popping noise. "I can hardly blame you." The man continued, waving the bottle just under Feryl's nose. A sweet scent wafted, causing him to flush in memory of taking it times before. "Who wouldn't delight in what Shadowbane promises, eh?"

The boy practically shivered with the promise of a dose.

"I'm proud of you Feryl." Nekros continued in a lulling tone, using his free hand to stroke the side of Feryl's face. The boy closed his eyes, hoping to hide his disgust. "You killed the girl in such an unusual way. Quite remarkable. So tender…those lips…" The boy had to remember to breathe as fingers caressed along his mouth. "I enjoyed how you used the affection to calm her."

The bottle touched his mouth once again. "Go ahead…you deserve it." Nekros told him. "Then tell me how long you've been taking my Shadowbane."

The sweetness filled his mouth, and he accepted the potion. Doses were normally only a light touch of the tongue. Only a drop was the usual measure. Nekros, however, tilted the small bottle. Trying very hard to not draw back, Feryl took the larger amount, feeling the wave of pleasure begin to overcome him.

"Six…months." Feryl moaned, eyes rolled back when the potion began to take hold. He could barely get the words out. "Only… six… months."

He saw no reason to lie. The amount Nekros gave him would be almost dangerous except his body had already grown resistances. His master knew how long he'd been sneaking a taste. It was either that, or he hoped to kill his apprentice and Feryl doubted he'd do that.

Waves of intense bliss engulfed senses, and he thought he could hear the hum of blood in his veins. No longer caring, Feryl wilted into arms. Nekros held him up, letting the boy lean on him for support. The assassin gave a low laugh, while stroking the silken hair. "Delightful…? Isn't it?"

Unable to fend him off, Feryl felt the man shift his body like a large rag doll. A hand cupped his chin and lips touched his own. Vaguely he grew aware the man trying to taste the Shadowbane he'd taken, and with a pitiful moan, tried to move away from his intentions. Limbs refused to work, and thoughts drifted as though through thick mud. The effects of Shadowbane had taken hold, leaving him helpless.

"Fight all you want, Feryl my boy." Nekros whispered in his ear. "Tonight, you become a man…"

--------------

A dull ache of hunger and the remnants of nightmares left the boy broken in the dark. Feryl did not move, half curled on the pallet of old blankets and clothes. His body ached, and his mind felt sluggish and thoughts heavy. Just as well, he did not want to remember what Nekros had done. He could smell him on his skin, and flashes of memory continued to haunt him.

The after effects of the Shadowbane left him listless and numb. Ever calculating, the man had known what affect that much Shadowbane would have on a boy his size. Lost in waves of pleasure, he did nothing to fend off his master from doing whatever he wanted. In fact, Feryl felt he might have participated. The thought made him sick and pushed memory aside before losing himself into madness.

Once again shut into the confines of his closet, the boy felt comforted by the dark enclosed in space. As long as the door remained shut, he was safe. He never realized before what form of comfort that had been to him. Small as the area was, the crowded walls shut him into a ball of quiet misery.

Nekros had most likely gone to sleep. There was no sound beyond the lock. _Maybe he left to kill Kendari_. Feryl paused, curious that he felt nothing when he thought that. Then again, right now he felt nothing but wretchedness. Deep down he knew the assassin wouldn't take on that job until nightfall. The shadow of darkness is when the man worked.

Master Kendari might not be even at the school. Surely, by now, he must know Lyra was hurt, and tended by a healer? Lyra would tell him what she knew. The thought of the swordsman's reaction to the truth made Feryl shrink. He'll hate me, and why shouldn't he after what I've done? He'd think he put his misplaced trust into a useless guttersnipe, a lowlife killer-in-training.

He kept reminding himself that he did not, in fact, kill Lyra, but he surely killed whatever friendship he had offered to her. Neither Lyra, nor Merthisan would know he hadn't been blooded, nor had he killed anyone. All they would know is he was apprentice to Nekros.

_She hates me. She knows what I am now._ He saw that in her eyes when Nekros told her the truth. Lyra was stricken with horror…disgust…or at least something similar. Merthisan would do the same. Feryl curled up tighter, ignoring the pain as he always did.

_I don't belong._

When Nekros had finished with him, the man had spoke words that left him feeling empty. "This is just the beginning…"

Feryl closed his eyes tightly, unable to shut out the world. _The beginning of things worse to come. He has to die….Nekros has to die…_

---------------


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The boy was more than he could possibly hope for, Nekros thought to himself. He was pleased with the previous day's performance, gladdened to see the boy had finally come to his senses. Three weeks was a very long time for him to have stayed among peasants, but the assassin wanted to test him on his loyalties.

The night he found Feryl in the school asleep on the bed, he looked almost…content. Clearly, he wanted to stay, but his master's voice was final. Nekros was delighted with how easily the boy did as he was ordered, as he always did in the past.

After the memorable tryst, the Imperial couldn't have been more thrilled with the way things turned out. The Shadowbane had done exactly what he wanted. _Serves the pup right stealing from me!_ Part of him desperately wanted the boy next to him as he slept, but the timing wasn't right yet. He was still quite young, and perhaps effecting by the girl's untimely death. Given time, Feryl would come to realize he'd done her a great service. Better his enchanting technique, than mine.

Warmed by the memory of Feryl's show of killing the girl, the assassin nearly tingled. How creative! How so beguilingly romantic! It was that tender kiss that enflamed him the night before. Such a soft mouth that boy has!

Nekros touched his own, smiling as he caught the scent of the boy on his skin. He was surprised at the development Feryl had in three short weeks. Filling out nicely, I must say! He appreciated the new muscle and strength in the elfling. The haircut was a nice touch as well, though he seemed to be reverting to his untamed ways.

No matter. There held a certain appeal as well.

After Kendari is dead, I will gather up some of the clothes there. There is no reason the boy needs to dress in rags anymore. He didn't particularly like when the boy wore tattered clothing, but Feryl was stubborn at times, and clothes were often ripped during punishment.

He didn't struggle last night. Nekros smiled again, keeping that memory livid in his mind to warm him. The body even seemed eager at times. Who would've thought such passion in such a young lad?

A wicked chuckle bubbled up his throat. He looked towards the locked closet, wondering if the boy listened. Well it was time he was up just the same. Nekros wanted to celebrate their reunion, and there was the killing of Master Kendari to be done. Feryl would need to watch, just in case the boy had developed feelings for the man. All ties to that place must be severed if there was any hope of redeeming him back into the art.

Unlocking the closet door, he found Feryl asleep on his makeshift pallet. Perhaps he'll get a bed now that he is a man. Nekros paused, feeling the vision before him was still a young boy too young.

Naked and bruised, the elfling curled with arms over his head. Legs were draw up to his chest, and chin to knees. The fetal position must be giving that illusion of innocence, the assassin considered thoughtfully.

Kneeling beside the lithe body, Nekros brushed aside the mass of hair that hid the face beneath. The boy was still unconscious, almost serene in repose. The usual scowl and darkness faded in sleep apparently, and the Imperial wondered if the same could be said of him; he doubted it.

"Feryl…" He said, nudging the boy. At first the boy didn't respond, and only a brief moment worry sparked in the assassin. Did I give him too much last night? There was always that threat of poisoning the boy too much. He'd come close a few times before. Shadowbane was fun to play with, more fun when he had a playmate, but the substance was tricky with how much to give.

Another nudge, and the lashes flickered open. Red eyes focused on the man above him, and widened in surprise. Nekros wasn't sure what to make of the fear he saw there. He had always seen fear in the boy, had cultivated it in fact. But this time, Feryl recoiled away from his touch. He thought the previous night he'd been rather gentle.

"Get up." He ordered him, feeling oddly rebuked by the boy.

_What did you expect, a thank you?_ He pushed aside the stupid thought and motioned the boy to get dressed. Clothes remained on the floor and Feryl moved on shaky legs to do as he was told. The bruises on his back and arms made Nekros curious if perhaps he had been a bit too harsh with him after all.

Well there was always next time.

"I think a celebration is in order." Nekros proclaimed, pulling out goblets and the bottle of fine port he kept for this very occasion. "A man's first blooding is something special. And I'm certain one you'll never forget." He set the cups on the table, and noticed Feryl remained where he was, looking nervously at the bottle. "Don't worry, you're not to be tested for poison this night." He opened the bottle with flourish, pouring to almost brimming. The boy never lost the tight expression.

_How tiresome._ Nekros sighed inwardly, blaming himself for the reaction. He supposed the boy now had something to compare his life to, with staying with that fool swordmaster. _All gentleness and kisses, no doubt_. He shouldn't have let him stay so long. Ah well, no matter. The boy would adapt as he always had.

"This is a rare vintage from Elsweyr." He explained, lifting the bottle to sniff. "Ah yes, a lovely red from the valleys of Orcrest." He pushed a goblet to the boy. "You won't be able to truly appreciate this vintage I'm afraid. You don't have the experience, but trust me, the wine is one of the best."

The dark elf looked at the contents, sniffing as his master had done. Nekros waited, curious when the boy still seemed reluctant. "I didn't poison it." He told him stiffly. "Drink."

Feryl took a sip, rolled the first taste across his tongue. Nekros remembered the purpose of his doing this was testing for poison out of habit, not that he was a connoisseur of wine. One who didn't know the boy's habits wouldn't know that however. The idea struck Nekros as ironic.

The assassin fought the growing frustration with the boy, but felt he at least deserved his little idiosyncrasies. _Feryl knew nothing else but what I've given him. _Sipping his own drink, Nekros let the delicate sweetness coat his tongue, drawing in air through his nose in order to appreciate the wine. _Perfect_. Memories of his past life living among nobles bore to mind, but he snuffed the quaint picture as quickly as it had come. No point in wasting thought on that, was there?

"What's your thoughts on Master Kendari?" Nekros said abruptly. He rather enjoyed catching the boy off guard. It served to improve his stoicism, but more importantly, kept him on his toes.

The deep red eyes looked up, taking only a moment to compose a reply. "If you're asking me when I think you should kill, then my answer is in his sleep."

That was a curious answer. "I thought you liked Kendari."

Feryl blinked slowly. He was very good at hiding feelings, that is, if he ever had any. Nekros did what he could to control the boy's sentiments. He'd spent year making sure to crush the uselessness of emotion, but sometimes what went on beneath those thick lashes remained a mystery. "He served his purpose."

_Right answer_! Nekros almost laughed. "And why do you suggest I kill him in his sleep?"

"Because he's that good."

The assassin took another drink of his wine. The smile faded. "You think he's better than I." The words were stated in a flat, warning tone. The boy, however, remained steadfast, almost as if he were unafraid.

"Why take the risk?"

Oh, he's good, the Imperial thought. "Killing a man in his sleep requires stealth, which you're proven yourself." His smile widened, "Why don't you do it, then? Tonight, kill Kendari and whatever you want from the school is yours."

The boy's eyes widened, and there was no need to read the sudden surprise Nekros found there.

"I told you things would be different, didn't I?" Nekros told him, toasting his glass. "You're a man now. A man has needs."

The boy gave an odd look, watching him drink some more. His own glass was barely touched. Nekros took note. "You do not care for the wine?"

Then again, Feryl never had in the past. He had complained the taste sour or bitter. But that never stopped him from drinking before. Now the boy took another sip, grimacing at the taste.

"Best port you ever had, and you don't like it?" Nekros laughed. His own glass was nearly half full, which he finished in a gulp. "There's a Breton saying, "Best pour wine to the ground than waste on an inexperienced tongue."

This only served to pinch those delicate brows together in a frown. He frowns so prettily, the assassin mused. He couldn't help but admire how handsome the boy was. So ignorant of the world, so innocent in some ways, yet so deliciously tainted in others. His smile turned wicked,

"I've forgiven you, Feryl." He said with a drawl. "Made you a man…surely you can think of something on how to thank me?"

The boy was very still. "I…have nothing to give you."

Nekros considered if he should offer him Shadowbane, but too much too soon could make him very sick. Drat! Weighing the options of forcing the boy or using a bit of coercing, Nekros was suddenly distracted by a sharp pain in his gut. It made him wince. He didn't think anything of it, until it happened again.

Frowning now, he drew in a breath to assess his body. A slight burning made itself known in his gut, and he realized sweat began to bead on his brow. He had thought the reaction from his sudden interest in Feryl, but now…

He looked at the boy who stared pensive. Then again, he always seemed pensive. This time something was wrong, something in the way he stood, or the sudden working of his throat when he swallowed. Holding his glass of sipped wine, the hand shook slightly.

"What is it?" Nekros asked, as another pain stabbed him in the gut. The sudden agony caused him to bent over, knocking over his empty glass. Startled by the abruptness of the painful attack, he looked up at the boy, and didn't like what he saw.

Feryl was as stone, wearing the same tight expression that indicated he needed to hide what was going on behind those smoldering red eyes. Nekros usually pushed aside concern, feeling that the boy couldn't possibly considering anything of importance. Now, however, he knew Feryl had something to do with this.

Slowly the young elf stepped forward to replace his cup on the table. Stopping, he looked up at his master before upturning the cup and its contents on the table, spilling the wine like blood over the surface. The contents splattered to the floor.

Nekros stared dumbly at the strange behavior, until he remember why Feryl did it. Wine tasters upturned their cups when poisoned. But hadn't he explained…? He frowned, looking at the bottle and remembering he only just opened the wine today. Surely that wasn't poisoned. Poison…?

"But I didn't…." Slow realization of the meaning settled on him like a shroud. He stared in shock to the young boy before him. "Feryl…what have you done?"

The boy took a step back, guilt spread over his face.

Another wave of agony hit him harder this time, doubling the assassin until he was almost on the floor. "Feryl…" He growled, letting anger fuel his need to remain on his feet. "What …have….you…done?"

Before he took another step, the poison gripped him hard. He dropped face first to the floor, heaving from pain and sickness. The man had barely time to grip his knife, but even that fell from his fingers as wracking pain doubled him over.

"No…" He snarled through gritted teeth. _Not Feryl! How could he? I'm his master…I'm his world!_

Lunging, Nekros moved to grab the boy, but he was quick. A nimble Dark Elf could easily sidestep. Nekros hoped to take him with him, to wring that delicate little neck of his, but now he was out of reach. Pain engulfed him, and a wave of nausea brought up spittle, bile and blood.

"You… ungrateful wretch!" The master growled, torn between the disbelief he could so have been wrong about the boy and the fact he was actually poisoned. But he drank too! How could the boy known which cups he'd choose? The thought froze his thoughts, until he remember the Shadowbane. The large dose he'd taken the previous night would protect him. He growled in frustration. Most likely all the cups had been poisoned.

_Poisoned! A master assassin? And poisoned by this whip of a boy?_

"Kill you-!"

Feryl simply had to stay out of reach, moving back every time the man crawled towards him. All the man could do is glare white hate at the boy who watched in silence to his death throes.

-----------

Feryl was terrified. But so good he was at hiding it, that all Nekros would see is the indifferent and dispassionate look of his killer staring back at him. Feryl crouched in a corner to stay out of reach, and watch with growing dismay as Nekros writhed against the toxins slowly working through his system.

_Not enough…_Feryl realized too late. _I haven't given him enough!_

The amount of poison was enough to kill almost anyone. Even the small amount the boy had consumed made itself known in his cramping stomach. But Nekros was a big man and had also taken Shadowbane for many years now. The time it was taking to actually kill him lengthened into agonizingly long minutes. Blood continued to flow from the man's mouth, foaming pink. His eyes were wide, white-rimmed in smoldering anger, and betrayal. It was the betrayal that bothered Feryl the most.

Evil as Nekros was, here was a man who had taught him everything he knew. From the brutal lessons to the vast knowledge of expertise, Nekros was meticulous in teaching of the all manner to kill a man, but also the art of stealth and shadow. Nekros was both father and tormenter. As much as Feryl hated to admit it, all his training did not prepare him for any of this; to watch the man die a slow and painful death.

What he thought he'd feel as triumphant transformed into revulsion. Feryl could almost feel the pain and suffering from the body in front of him.

Moving forward, he had to dodge the assassin's attempt at grappling him. He snatched up the fallen dagger, fingers brushing against a hand trying feebly to grab him. The assassin was so weakened now, he could barely move. Arms floundered in the vain attempt at taking his apprentice down with him.

Feryl moved closer, flooding himself with memories of all what the man had done to him not hours before. Self-loathing reared up along with the sudden rush of anger directed at the fallen assassin. He let himself feel the ache of his body, the revulsion for himself and for his master. Gripping the dagger, he found movements were like pushing through waves of mud.

He has to die….

Forcing his body to move, Feryl pounced, straddling the assassin across his back. Pinning him was easier now the man was weakened and already dying. But how much longer before he actually died? The young elf grabbed a fistful of lank hair to draw the head back. The body beneath tried to squirm free, then oddly gave up.

"Feryl…" Nekros' voice was thick with suffering, "Don't,…not….to late."

He wants me to save him! Vision blurred with sudden tears, and his body shook with emotion. "Mercy is more than you deserve." He whispered. And with a swift fluid draw of the blade, opened his throat to end his suffering.

Now trembling violently, Feryl felt the air release from the man's lungs and the body grew still. No sound came from him, and that single shattering moment was forever etched into memory.

His first true blooding… 

---------

At the hours before dawn, no one took notice of a small form dragging a heavy burden to the river. Feryl had been careful, once again, to avoid the streets that might raise an alarm. The weight was almost too much for him, but desperate and without thought, the young elf instinctively did as Nekros had always wanted to do with the bodies.

The thought never once occurred to him to leave him dead in the abandoned building. No one would find him for weeks, and would anyone care if they did? Feryl didn't even consider that many would barely take the time to look to find the murderer of Nekros.

When he rolled the corpse into the dark water, the blanket covering his face drifted away. Caught in the glassy stare of his master glaring up at him, Feryl could only stare back. The face was frozen in rage and pain, lips coated in blood. As the form disappearing into the depths, the boy could still see the soulless eyes, and knew he always would.

Where he thought he'd feel repletion, he felt dead. Feryl fell to knees, folding arms over his stomach that still hurt from the poison he'd taken. He wouldn't die, and he deserved the pain. As dawn approached, he remained, tears falling silently down his cheeks.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The sweet scent of flowers mingled with the heady scent of herbs when Merthisan found Lyra in the healer's home. She was alive, but frightened. The wound was minor, and nearly recovered with the healer's attention. The haunted memory of encountering Feryl's master however left her forlorn and trembling.

The story she unraveled only added more questions instead of answers. Merthisan sat in stunned silence, uncertain what to think of the boy's method in saving her. The girl went through as best she could the accounts of her ordeal. In rushed words, Lyra told the swordmaster of Feryl and the identity of his new master.

_Nekros, all this time, his master had been that deadly assassin!_ The elfling's fear and refusal to dare speak of his prior life made sense now. He could not, however, rectify what he knew of the boy and what he'd heard of the assassin.

"But he saved me!" The girl cried piteously. "Surely Nekros will kill him now! You must find Feryl! Please Master Kendari!"

Merthisan nodded, having already thought the same. He had to find Feryl, before it was too late. He encouraged her to describe the place she'd been taken. Within hours, the swordsman located the ramshackle building. This part of the city was like a land forgotten. Only the dispossessed and criminals took up residence here. To his dismay, what he found was darkness within the building and silent as a tomb.

Master Kendari wasn't sure what he wanted to find. Certainly there was the goal of finding Nekros, to kill him and end his reign of terror, but saving the boy was paramount. Nothing prepared him as he stared at the congealed blood pooled in the center of the room he discovered. All he could think was the amount was too much for anyone to survive.

_I'm too late_….

A quick inspection of the place revealed the place had been quickly abandoned; anything of value had been taken. Merthisan discovered what could only be the closet where Feryl had lived most of his life. A pile of rags and torn blanket formed a makeshift pallet, with nothing of value, no toys, or even books. There was nothing to indicate anything but an animal had been kept within. The thought of how horrible life had been for Feryl was oppressive.

_Some hero I am. I couldn't save the boy_.

He sagged against a wall, drawing in a ragged breath. Thoughts grew as dark and dingy as his surroundings. Another haunting look at the blood made his chest clench painfully. _At least now his suffering is over_…

Merthisan returned with a heavy heart, trying delicately to explain to Lyra what he found without giving details. Lyra sobbed, and had to be given a draught to let her finally sleep.

-----------

Days later, Renis' body was found. He'd been murdered, and then marked upon his forehead with the symbol of Nekros. Merthisan wasn't certain how that came to be. Renis had hated the boy, but felt guilty over losing Lyra. He must have gone to save her. Nevertheless, the sword master couldn't understand how Renis knew where to look. Why hadn't he summoned the city guard? Why had the assassin targeted him, other than he must have faced off Nekros alone? _Why go and face him unaccompanied when he should've brought the guards, or at the very least, told me?_ Deep down, the swordmaster felt he had poorly judged Renis, that the man was somehow tied up in this mess.

The aged Imperial felt lost, paranoid, constantly looking at shadows as if expecting that Nekros would come for him. Surely if he was marked for death, the man would make his presence known soon? He would even come after Lyra. He grew protective, more so than before.

During a stormy night, Merthisan had gone through the school locking doors and windows. Lyra was putting on her cloak, readying to leave. She was better now, but lost so much of her smiling nature. She looked pale, and so terribly sad. He wondered if ever she'd smile again.

The girl returned to her daily chores as soon as she was able. Work, she said, kept her from thinking too much. Even as Lyra finished in half the time with her fury of effort, Merthisan too often found her teary-eyed or outright sobbing. He had not guessed how much she cared for the dark elf boy.

The night was drawing to a close, with the storm causing night to fall early. When a hard knock to the front doors of the school echoed through the emptiness, the swordsman felt a pang of apprehension. Who calls on such a night as this?

A city guardsman stood at the stoop, drenched and expectant. His armor glistened in the rain, with a captain's insignia on his shoulder. The face was square, amplified with a mustache dropping at the corners and bushy eyebrows. Not a large man, he was stout and typical of an Imperial. "Master Kendari? A word with you sir?" The face was grim.

Merthisan recognized this was the man who had taken the report of Lyra's disappearance, and reports of all that had transpired not a week prior. Well, not everything. For some reason, he found himself not speaking much of Feryl. Perhaps he wanted to preserve the memory, or that he didn't want the boy's life to be subject of ridicule or judgment of those who never knew him.

Pushing aside the thoughts, he focused on the here and now. "Yes?" He could make out two more guards keeping a pair of horses settled as they pulled a cart. A form lay beneath a blanket soaked from the rain. Merthisan tensed, wondering if the might be Feryl's.

_No…please no_…

"We understand the girl has made a claim of seeing Nekros?" The guard asked, tipping his head politely in Lyra's direction. She paled upon hearing the name, inching closer to Merthisan.

He tensed, instinctively wanting a sword in his hand. "What of it?"

"We think we have his body, sir. Found it in the river naught but an hour ago." He shifted nervously on his feet. "If she could tell us…if he's the man…well sir, people will be able to sleep at night."

Lyra looked as though she might faint but to her credit, she nodded. "Show me"

Stepping into the street, the guard led her to the cart where a body lay.

"Have you…found any other …bodies?" Merthisan forced himself to ask.

"Just this one sir." The guard drew back the cloth, and the swordmaster watched Lyra stumbled back. He caught her, feeling her shaking terribly.

"That's him…that's the man." Her voice was strained, trying not to cry.

The body was slightly bloated with water, with eyes thankfully shut, and skin gone blue-white. Lips had no color save for the brackish blood and muck from the river. Hair was a tangled mass of a soaked mop. Merthisan gasped, recognizing the man who had been Feryl's master. The last time he'd seen him was the fateful night of the boy's beating. Why hadn't he suspected?

"Are you certain this man was Nekros?" Merthisan asked.

The guard lifted the dead man's hand, showing the distinct tattoo on his palm. The insignia marked him as the assassin. "We think so."

"We've no idea what exactly killed him-" The one guard started to say.

"Poison by the look of his mouth." Another spoke up.

The other guard scowled as if the man was daft, "Or the throat that is gaping open."

"Dammit Mecius, show some consideration for the girl!" His superior barked at him, followed by a half-hearted slap to the man's shoulder.

The man shut up, blushing red as he looked apologetically to Lyra. She covered her mouth as if she was going to be sick.

"Go on Lyra…" Merthisan told her, pushing gently so the girl would go back into the school. He turned back to the guards.

The captain sighed sadly. "I also need to ask sir…well…there's been rumors. The rumors say Nekros had an apprentice. Word also had it you housed a young dark elf boy here only days ago. Perhaps you've heard him say something, or perhaps the girl mentioned seeing him?"

"An apprentice?" The swordsman felt his heart would seize. "You think…he might be alive?"

"We figure only his apprentice could do this, being no one else could get close." The guard explained. "Its speculation though, and rumor. Someone said they thought they saw a dark elf boy the other night by the wharfs. We have to follow leads."

"Of course."

"Well have you heard anything?"

Merthisan hesitated, thinking of Feryl somewhere out on the streets someplace, alone. Alive….? No, how can a young boy take on a monster such as Nekros? He wasn't sure why, and wouldn't know for years to come but his reply was simple, and not altogether a lie. "The boy left days ago. I haven't seen him since."

"Ah, well thank you Master Kendari, for your time. Thank the girl for us. She's put many people to rest by her courage."

"Thank you."

As the guards left with their grisly find, Merthisan retreated into the school. He found Lyra looking as though she were ready to faint.

"Do…do you think he's still alive?" She dared to ask.

I don't see how its possible, he kept to himself. The memory of the blood on the floor was vivid in his mind. Now he considered if the boy had killed his master, that would explain the blood. He couldn't imagine the boy trying to fend off a man of that size alone.

"I suppose there is hope." He told her, feeling as though no feeling came with his words. Someone killed Nekros….how could a boy be the one to do it? Is there another player in this sordid event? He tried to knit together a scenario, but found too many pieces were unknown to him.

"But he'd come here, wouldn't he?" The girl persisted, "He would have any where else to go, no one else…" Her voice caught, as she wiped away the sudden wetness upon her cheeks.

Merthisan rubbed at his face, scratching fingers along a chin that needed a shave badly. Her questions bothered him. She was right. If Feryl was alive, why hadn't he returned? "I'm sure he's a survivor." He said, reaching for his sword to walk her home. "He would've found someplace to hide."

"You think he murdered Nekros."

Startled by her words and accusing tone, he saw her no longer crying but standing with arms folded and a tight expression, demanding answers. Murder….the boy murdered someone, but not just anyone, he killed a master assassin. Merthisan struggled with the sense of law and justice. Everyone deserved a trial, otherwise there would be chaos. "Someone killed him-"

"It wasn't murder." Lyra said firmly, her blue eyes though red-rimmed and full of sorrow were also unwavering in her belief.

Unable to sort through his feeling on the matter, he jerked his head to the door. "It's getting late. I need to walk you home."

Relenting, the girl moved to get her basket and gave a soft gasp. Her hand lifted to cover her mouth as eyes widened, staring through the open doorway leading into the practice room.

Merthisan frowned, not understanding what she was looking at. "What is it?"

"Look!" She pointed to the wall.

He looked, still not understanding.

"Look! …The Manos Blade!"

His breathing stopped. The curved blade rested in the very spot that had remained vacant for almost a month. What the-?

Rushing into the practice room, he immediately noticed water had dripped on the mats where someone had entered through from a high window to replace the sword. The rafters above, however, were thick with shadows. Anything could be hiding there. "Feryl…" He breathed, wondering if the boy was still above.

As if in answer, a flutter of movement shifted from the right moving towards the window that remained open. Nimble as a cat, the small form raced over the narrow beams to escape.

"Don't!" Merthisan called out, knowing he'd never be able to stop him from where he stood. "Feryl…please!"

"Feryl Don't go!" Lyra cried out.

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Feryl perched on the window's ledge as he hesitated on his getaway. He had only wanted to return the sword, to its rightful owner, but seeing the city guard, and hearing them verifying Nekros' death had caught him in a web of morbid curiosity. He also felt compelled to see Lyra alive and well, and…what? Now Master Kendari and Lyra were calling him, but not with the anger he believed they would have for him. He'd only assumed they would hate him for what he'd done.

_I should run_, he thought, feeling clothes paste to his body from the drenching rain_, I should not look back. I don't belong here_. The guards were looking for him, in the death of Nekros, and he knew they were looking for a murderer. What would happen should they find me? Would they also see nothing but a dark elf, an assassin's apprentice? Something bound him to glance back at the swordmaster and Lyra standing in the practice room…

_Lyra…_ _She was alive_. He'd told himself that was all that really mattered, that it was enough to know she was going to live a long and healthy life, but now seeing her face, those gloriously blue eyes looking up at him was almost too much. He knew it wasn't enough, he missed her.

"I…only wanted to return what is yours." He told them, feeling the words sounding flat in explanation to why he'd returned. Feryl knew he could've picked a time Kendari walked Lyra home. He could have returned the sword then, even waited until they had left.

"We thought you were dead." Merthisan spoke with a frown on his face. Feryl felt the frown was for _him_, of disappointment and seeing his arrival. The swordmaster continued, his tone softening. "You're free, lad. Why didn't you come back home?"

The elfling bowed his head, feeling the cold wind of the storm blowing through the window to whip his wet hair across his face. The boy felt his throat constrict. They still _want _me? The realization hit him hard. "But…after what I've done..." He began.

The girl wiped tears off her cheeks. "You saved my life Feryl. You did what you had to do. I know that."

Feryl couldn't believe what he was hearing. "But…its _my_ fault he wanted you in the first place!"

"You can't take the blame for what that man did!" Merthisan spoke forcibly, hoping his words would get through.

"You don't know what I've done!" Feryl found his voice thick with self-loathing, anger, and guilt. Perhaps master Kendari could only hear anger, but the young elf only felt the same ache as he had for days. haunted by Nekros' death he barely slept, barely ate. Every time he tried to sleep, Nekros' face sinking into the murky depths would fill his mind.

The elfling almost bolted then and there, too afraid to accept what he considered impossible! How could they still want me around? He truly felt he was undeserving of their friendship. The very thought they were offering him forgiveness left him stunned.

"Feryl," Merthisan continued in a soft tone. So alluring, so welcoming…and was there also forgiveness? "My offer to let you stay here stands."

For so many reasons, Feryl wanted to stay. This place was gave him the happiest days of his short life. But with the good memories, came the bad. _The city guards are looking for me… _For the simple cause of trouble he'd no doubt give to the aging swordmaster was what decided his reply. "I…can't."

"But why?" Lyra called up to him.

Feryl eased down from the window to balance on the wooden ledge. He knew he was lost in the shadows now, neither of them could see his face. "I don't belong here." He told them, hoping they could understand his reasoning. "And the guards are looking for Nekros' murderer."

"I'm certain they just want to ask some questions-" Merthisan started to say.

"Your school will suffer, Master Kendari." The boy stated flatly. He knew the guards would be seeing only the law. Murderers were punished, even ones who kill assassins. "What will people think if they found out who I was?"

He could see the swordsman want to deny it, but they both knew how folks saw only the obvious.

"So where will go then?" The Imperial asked of him. "How will you survive?"

Feryl had survived for days on his own, though barely. The reason was more of the terrible dead feeling inside. He supposed he wasn't ready to face them while he carried the pain so close to the surface. Not yet…

"I'm a survivor." The boy replied. Wasn't that the very words he'd heard uttered from the swordsman? "There's so much in the world for me to see-"

"But we miss you!" Lyra blurted out. He hadn't expected the same loneliness in the girl's eyes as he'd felt in his own. Somehow, he refused to think he could be her only friend, but the girl had never spoke of anyone else. Her life had been the school.

"I'll visit. I just can't live here." He saw Kendari lay a gentle hand on her shoulders, silently urging her to accept his decision. For that, Feryl was grateful for he truly didn't know how much of their insistence he could take. "I want to be free…."

He saw acceptance then, in those blue eyes. A smile touched her mouth. "You must promise." Lyra told him, pointing a formidable finger at him. "You will visit. And to come often! And to tell me of your life-"

"Alright! Alright!" Feryl said, feeling a rush of giddiness threaten to spill out in laughter or tears, as if the tension and darkness that had clouded his past few days were released. "I promise…" He stood up then, looking back at them as he made an effort to leave once more.

"Feryl?" Merthisan's voice called up to him.

The boy hesitated.

"Next time, use the door."

The elfling gave a light laugh, slipping out into the night without another sound.

I'm free…I'm finally free…

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_NOTE: I have yet to write an epilogue for this story, then the end. I plan on focusing on the next story that comes after Challenges. Those of you who enjoyed Challenges might also want to look up A Guar Adventure. That has Eiryn and Saber in a short story that takes place after he becomes Nerevarine. )_


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